Bluthton
by Immaculately
Summary: Michael and Maeby partner to run the Bluth Company, and more. WARNINGS: SMUT SCENES, MINOR INCEST. Maeby x Michael, George Michael x Rebel, George Michael x Maeby, Michael x Lindsay, Lucille, George Senior, and Buster. The soundtrack here youtube. com/ playlist?list PLv7MOGRoSlZHzvKGYnd2mJoLjvVSuAFat
1. Here We Come

"With two Bedrooms, a bathroom, a living area, and kitchen, how could you not buy one of these beautiful new homes?"

"Absolutely, It's the perfect family home, and look, they're just walking off the plan, the phones are ringing hot!"

"If you buy today, we can also throw in free satellite WIFI, which is perfect if you need the internet, or any phone connection! It's not for everyone, but for me, I find myself making phone calls with it, Skyping, Facebook, so many uses for it today!"

"It's just an added bonus but what great value! What a fantastic deal today, to buy in with Bluth homes!"

_It was a slightly different Bluth company to the year earlier._

"I'm going to have sex with you, for money." Michael gazed sternly at Lucille #2.

_Bluth-Austero had been in turmoil, having barely weathered the financial chaos, dependent on further investment to prop up its failing books. Michael Bluth had decided the best time to start construction on a whole suite of new homes was at the climax of the financial crisis, a great time in everyone's books, and especially this company's. But the main investor to the company was dead,_

Lucille #2 screams and a series of thumps are heard on the stair car.

_Her money lost in a quagmire of legal proceedings, for as forward thinking as their benevolent benefactor always seemed to be investing in a company that had been for years a "sell" with Mad Money, she didn't have a last will and testament._

Perfecto sits in a crisp black suit and tie, with Barry Zuckercorn on the opposite side of the table.

"The Bluth company owes Perfecto Telles five million dollars."

"What would make you say that?" Barry asked, then turning to wink at George Senior.

Perfecto's lawyer, Bob Loblaw, slid a piece of paper across the table. "this is a cheque written by the late Ms Austero, for five million dollars, made out to the Bluth company. Cashed by you, George Bluth."

Barry nodded slowly. "He's good." He whispered to George Senior, not quiet enough.

_The Bluth company badly needed new investors to pay off its major creditor. Fortunately, though, a family member with a lot of investors, needed somewhere safe to park credit._

"Maeby, you're fired." George Michael shouted as she steered the golf cart away from him.

_A company which was still rated "Don't buy", but safer than the Bluth's other ventures._

Lucille watches the screen with mouth agape, as Buster stands beside the wall, and George Senior drives the bus around and around. "They caddyshacked'd it!"

_And which the number of unemployed Bluths needed just at that moment. Which is how Michael Bluth, and his non-biological niece Maeby Bluth, found themselves working together again._

"Hey, hey, how's my Unkie Mike?"

"Maeby. Thanks for the advice by the way."

"No problem, how did it go?"

George Michael punches Michael in the face outside Rebel's apartment.

"It really made an impact."

"Great. Do you know where the company chequebook is?"

"Yes, why would you need that?"

"I need to make some investments. For the good of the company.

"What kind of, investments?"

"In children. As they're our future."

"It sounds to me like you'd wish to get a salary, the company can't just hand money out. You're going to have to work for it."

_And that's how Michael and Maeby found themselves doing an infomercial for housing developments on the home shopping network._

"Unbeatable deal today, Michael." Maeby grinned, "the growth in value on these properties has been 100% just this year, imagine that over ten years!"

A disclaimer flashed on the screen, 'The financial advice provided on this show is general in nature, consult your financial planner to see if this is right for you'

_That was the two days between when the sex offenders moved out, and they put their houses in the market._

"Fantastic, fantastic value, you won't find better value or a better location!"

_The ticky tack boxes in the desert were in fact starting to move, and even though the spiel was part bluff, the Bluths had started selling houses for the first time in fifteen years. Partly due to their new CEO, and CFO._

Michael sat at the head of the board, glancing at Maeby, as a board member droned on.

"…and the SEC will not be happy to hear the misrepresentation in those ads…"

"Let me stop you there, Bill." Michael raised a hand, "I think the CFO and I are doing a fantastic job and our homes are actually selling, so unless there's a complaint, I think we should stay on the wagon."

"There's been complaints." Another board member piped up.

"How many?"

"Forty-five."

"Well, uh…"

"Until we get something in writing, that's just speculation." Maeby interjected. "We'll handle it then."

"The charges have been filed, it's on all the Wagon."

The woman got two blank stares from the executive.

"Prosecutor, Denis Wagon."

"And that's what we are paying you for, to handle our legal matters." Michael asserted. "Anything else?"

_Having a CEO who didn't know all of the day to date dramas of the Bluth company was now due to better management, rather than just George and Lucille. With Maeby's capital, and Michael's management, the Bluth company had purchased a new plot of land, and had even turned the first sod. And cut a ribbon, as all Bluth sod turnings include. But Michael had made sure only he and his CFO were attending from the family, the rest of his staff working productively. _

"Thank you, thank you all for being here today. I wasn't around for the first sod of the last successful housing project, but I certainly wouldn't miss this one. Maeby, can you pass me the scissors?"

Maeby's eyes darted, trying to scan as to where they'd gone. Spotting them in the car far from the reporters, she jogged towards the car.

"While we're waiting, can I also say, the Bluth Company is extremely proud of its recent financial turn around. Rome wasn't built in a day, but we are on track like never before."

"What about the case against you with the SEC?" interjected a reporter.

"That's not even reached the courts, and we are confident of a quick resolution."

"So this company hasn't fallen off the wagon?"

Maeby dashed towards the group, the scissors in hand.

"No, between myself and my CFO, we're surging forward at a rapid rate."

"Michael Bluth, didn't your mother tell you to not run with scissors?" Asked another reporter, while the group snapped Maeby.

"No, I think adults we can…"

Maeby failed to see the turned sod and tripped, flying forward into Michael and collecting him in a heap in the dirt, as the group of reporters swarmed.

Michael leaned back into his desk chair. "That is one of our better headlines." He held up the paper, 'In the dirt: Bluth's latest investment'.

"That's the late edition, the online had the phrase 'mud wrestling' in it."

"At least they didn't go with 'playing dirty', I thought they'd go in harder."

She shrugged. "It's easier with GOB driving the limo and Mom running for Congress, keeps them out of the spotlight."

"They really should have gone for 'playing dirty'." He muttered. "Ah well, that was our most successful sod turn yet."

"Have the plans been approved up for Bluthton?"

"Yes, can't have the model of the original version, because suspending a scale model would cost millions of dollars a year. The rest, we're just getting our lawyers to look over them."

"I thought Barry was busy with Pop-pop?"

"I brought back Bob Loblaw."

"Now Mom is not around to try it on with him again?"

"Yeah." Michael looked to change the subject. "Also, she'd paid back part of the retainer we'd put him on through being his nanny, so we're currently in the black with him."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Maeby sat down, leaned back into the visitor chair. "Wow, I've almost got nothing to do."

"So quiet without the rest of the family about." Michael shook his head. "Oh, have you tried restricting our affairs to the oil rig yet? Pop-pop was sure they did that in the 70s."

"No, Bob couldn't find any record of that. Maybe Barry just told him he had? To do anything with the rig, we'd need to own the rig. Also, we can't afford to buy an oil rig. Also, we would have no idea how to run an oil rig."

"So they definitely don't do PO Boxes?"

Maeby sent him a sideways glance.

"Dad again….It's only 6, are you free tonight? How about we grab some dinner?"

"Sure, I'm free most night."

"Did you speak to George Michael?"

"Yeah, he said he and Rebel are engaged."

_George Michael had seen his life flash before his eyes before, and not always in a good way, but when the opportunity came up, he didn't miss the train._

"Oh George, look at that gorgeous train!" Rebel pointed to the train for toddlers.

"Did you want to ride it?"

"I can't do that."

"You should, you only live once."

As they climbed in behind other four and five year olds, a group of teens passed by, and started heckling and laughing.

"Look at the Baby, there with your girlfriend!

"If you love her so much why don't you marry her?"

"Ignore them." George Michael said firmly. "This is only about you."

She smiled, taking his hand. When the train started to move, she continued, "When I was a little girl Dad would always bring me here, and we'd go on it. It was one of the few things he'd do with me when were out and about."

"Rebel, I think those kids were right."

"What?" She demanded.

"You are such an amazing person, and I love you. Rebel, will you marry me!"

Rebel smiled, and squealed. "Yes!"

"Between you and me, I don't think you're missing much, she's kind of got a string of ex-lovers that the studio has to placate every so often, it's all a bit…" She gestured in frustration. "Oh, cute flowers." She noticed a vase of orange lillies with black spots in the corner.

"Maybe I dodged a Rebel." He considered.

She cringed. "You sure dodged something."

"Do you miss it? The studio?"

"I don't miss the Rebels, but I do miss selling millions of tickets to movies like 'the Oceanwalker'."

"Do you know anything about a poster George Michael had up in his room for a French film? I remember seeing it years ago. It started with an 'L'."

"No, I don't remember."

_She did remember. It was Les Cousins Dangeroux, a film about cousins having a relationship, of which her studio then did a remake. Badly._

"He was always so into that wood block of his, did he get that from you?"

Michael paused, before admitting, "Yeah, I sometimes break out the guitar."

"Really? I don't think I ever heard you on there."

Michael sings offkey seated on a chair in his bedroom, strumming, then stopping. And strumming again.

"Well we hadn't spent much time together before now."

"You always spent a lot of time at work, or with George Michael."

"Yeah, I guess I had different priorities." His eyes drifted.

_And back into the priorities, Michael and Maeby continued construction on their terrainian marvel, Bluthton. Away and way from the original Bluth vision of a hovering city, but still with the skyhigh ambitions that had kept Bluth on the books as a 'don't' buy' from Mad Money._

"You know, these Bluths, run by that CEO that hasn't done much in ten years, and that CFO who is a breath of fresh air, and seems to blowing them in a direction! Good direction, I don't know, still got the SEC hovering around it, but I'm moving this company from a 'Don't Buy' to a, 'Would not buy', my highest rating yet!"

"Hey Maeby! We're up from a 'Don't Buy' to a 'Would not buy'!"

"Wow." She wandered into his office. "Moving in the right direction."

"They mentioned you too, sad you were 'blowing the company in a direction'."

"Better to be blowing something I guess." She shrugged. "So are we on the Wagon or off it at the moment?"

"Jerry!" Michael shouted, then sat at his desk when the balding grey suited man appeared. "Are we on the Wagon or off it?"

"We're on at the moment, he's ignoring our pleas."

"We need to keep the company on track, this could derail us."

"Do you want to talk to…"

"No, Jerry, this is what I pay you for." Michael interjected.

"Show him how little these cases against the Bluth company have materialised over the years." Maeby instructed, "The government won't leave us alone. Counter him with harassment." She mused, "Maybe we need to do a PR campaign."

"Maybe not when your mother is running for Congress?" Michael cautioned.

"I'll…look into it." Jerry mumbled, leaving the chiefs.

"Why do you want to do a PR campaign?" Michael asked directly.

In the boardroom full of old white men next to the screen, Maeby used her laser pointer on the powerpoint projection. "And we expect to double our revenue in the next two fiscal years."

"Are there any threats to the bottom line? Further litigation?" The youngest and least bald one asked.

"The Bluth company have gone from a solid investment, to a far more solid investment. Solid as a rock."

_Like from building on wet sand, to building on dry sand. At least they'll be plumbed this time._

"Are you sure? The Bluth company has the highest number of citing's in pleadings of any Orange County company."

"There is no possibility we will come off the wagon. I give you my personal guarantee"

"I just think it's a good look." She dug the toe of her shoes into the carpet. "You know, all the appearance of a go-getting company selling to the broader population who sit around watching infomercials all day. And haven't the infomercials moved our stocks well? If we put our family out there more, the better things seem to get for the company."

_Perhaps at the best of times._

"Yeah, it's February 14 today, next one is next week." He recalled, spotting a staffer wandering past the door with a bunch of flowers in hand.

"I'll get into the network, maybe we can move ten next one?"

"That's if they can weed out the prank calls."

_Strangely enough, supporters of Sally Sitwell were calling up and promising to send cheques that never materialised._

"Well, I've got nothing else on tonight, might as well get on it." She walked out the door.

At her desk, in a smaller office with a smaller window than Michael's, Maeby leaned on the armrest while continuing to talk on the desk phone. "Yes, an hour slot. No Iguana this time. No, same as before…"

A delivery man walked through her door with a bunch of tigerlillies in hand, and held out a clipboard.

She scrawled in the vague location of the signature area. "Yes, I'll hold." Putting the phone down, she searched through the flowers for the card, not finding one.

_Sending flowers on a busy Valentines day in Orange County can be a mixed blessing, especially when a delivery may not notice where he's waving one of his armfuls of flowers. _

The delivery man with the same tigerlillies slams his white van shut, and while reaching to grab the clipboard off the front seat, he props the flowers upside down under his elbow, the card floating face down to the bitumen.

Michael walks into Maeby's office, now lit with her desk lamp.

"How's it going?"

"Good, you won't believe it, I got flowers from a secret admirer."

"Really?"

"Yeah, no card. Probably from some actor or something."

_Most actors would go for the classical bunch of roses, in fact an online poll registered the red rose as the bribe of choice for casting directors. Tigerlillies would be an imaginative decision._

"They're nice. Did the network say we were locked in?"

"Yeah I said lock it in, Eddie."

"You know what they say about TV, TV is where its at for who wants to be a millionaire."

"I was such a sucker sticking with the movies idea for so long." She shook her head.

_As were we. But speaking of communication, Michael was getting some interesting phone calls the next day._

At his desk, the warm daylight streamed in through the blinds. "Yes, I got the call from Lindsay earlier. How much do you need? Sorry, the company doesn't have that kinda money just lying around at the moment. No, really. No, we really can't spare the money. Dad, I just can't give you that kinda money." Michael's voice got louder and louder.

Maeby strode in. "What does he want?"

He put his hand over the receiver. "Four million."

Maeby's mouth fell open. "uh, no. No way. Maybe $40k? that's the most we can get back in tax this year."

Michael returned to the phone. "So Maeby is saying $40k. That's all we can give you. Well, fine then. Goodbye."

"Is it for mom?"

"Yeah. She needs TV advertising."

_She needed more than that to counter the cashed-up Sitwell with award winning hair, but far be it from her to take the advice of anyone but herself._

"We can't help."

"I just…You know, we spend hours here to rebuild this and not screw it up this time, and they just want to cash in like we're a bank." He kicked his desk. "Well, no-more. I'm done with the rest of them riding our hard work." He pointed towards Maeby. "Don't give them a cent."

"I'll make sure we don't." She walked out, reappearing shortly later with a bottle of whisky in hand and a glass a third full, handing it to Michael. "Here. But don't go all Ganki on me."

He smiled at her, touching her forearm as he took the glass from her. "Thanks." Michael's phone rang again. "excuse me." He picked up. "Yep. Oh, no we're not quite sure, there are pending charges."

Maeby turned on her heels and attempted to disappear without Michael seeing her, without success, him noticing her scurrying away.

"Yeah, I understand. Give me a moment." He hung up the phone. "Maeby!"

She reappeared. "Yeah?"

"What did you tell the Nevada investors?"

"Uhhh…"

"They seem to think either we are immune to litigation, or we've taken a personal guarantee about this."

"Yeah."

"Maeby, you're the CFO." He leaned into her. "If the board knew," he whispered, "they'd put back on all those conditions we convinced them to relax. The wheels would come off."

Maeby paused, realising how close they were standing, smelling the whisky on his breath. "I'm…sorry."

"Just be honest with me, okay?"

He then embraced her, stepped back and inhaled to compose himself.

_But the Wagon was in motion, and in fact in train. But not with who Michael thought._

"Mr Bluth." The narrow-featured Denis Wagon scanned the front page of his brief. "I have forty-eight complaints against your company."

"Yes, we still haven't heard a single name of these complainants."

Maeby ambled towards the drinks table, which was on the prosecutor's side of the table, taking a slight detour.

"They're names are not important."

She scanned it just in time before he slammed his file shut. "Hey, most of these are Sitwells!"

_Indeed they were, because as Sitwell was trying to sabotage the Bluth campaign, to sabotage what was believed to be the primary source of Bluth company's fundraising went hand in hand. Michael was aghast. _

"You can't be serious."

Wagon stood up. "That, is grounds, for contempt." He shook his pen in Maeby's face.

"You and what train? Your gaggle of complainants is our political opponents!"

"Did you want to ride it?" Wagon inched into her space.

"I can't do that."

Wagon inhaled, in the most creepy way possible. "You should, you only live once."

Michael's eyes widened.

"You know what, this company is picking up steam as I am blowing it in the right direction, I won't have you ruin this for me!" She narrowed her eyes.

"Okay okay, I think we're done for today." Michael placed his hands either side of Maeby's arms, gesturing for them to leave.

_Michael was again, aghast. _

"Can you believe that guy?" He walked down the building's front stone steps.

"Well, I could have gone with it…" She considered, "w[beep]ed myself out, but that's more my mother's thing."

"Yeap."

_Michael let that one go through to the keeper. His job was to make dozens of homes keepers, for the thousands of Americans who had enough time to watch infomercials and afford a house in a part of Orange County shared by cactuses. _

On the infomercial set, Michael gestured to the model of the model home. "And what is it today that we could be missing out on, Maeby?"

"Certainly not air conditioning, because…"

Michael cleared his throat.

_Air conditioning was the first thing to go when they had to cut corners, not something you'd want to draw attention to for houses virtually built in the desert._

"it's a highly overrated thing, especially with this quality of heating!"

Micahel again cleared his throat.

"The windows are top notch!"

"Yes, that weatherproofing will go you many, many seasons."

Maeby cleared her throat.

"And comes with so many extras! Full furnished!" Michael added. "With all the quality furniture, you'll be very comfortable."

"Summer or winter!" Maeby added brightly.

_As the new owners of the houses might feel to go like a goose and migrate for the seasons, Michael was in for more heat. _

"No, the company can't do that. No, it's not possible. Yes, I have the cheque book. Okay. Okay. Bye." He slammed the phone down, with Maeby having joined him amid the shouting.

"They're asking again?"

"Can you please conduct a thorough financial audit, and just see what exactly our expenses are." Michael mused.

"I'm already working on that, but there's a bunch of shelf companies, Pop-pop had it layered up pretty good."

"Not surprised. Can you have one done by Friday week?"

"The next board meeting? Yes."

_If she had started. It was going to be a long week for Maeby, especially because she was right about George Senior's handiwork. But fuel was on its way._

Michael walked through the door, finding an exhausted Maeby consuming a Snickers bar.

"Yum, but you shouldn't be working off sugar."

"I don't think there's much sugar in these, it's not from Mexico."

"Well don't burn out, you're not you when you're hungry."

Maeby grimaced, and kept scribbling away.

_And as the hours slipped away, Maeby's hand slipped off her arms, and onto her cold desk. But she wouldn't be awoken by exhaustion. _

"Yoo hoo." The man knocked on her door frame. "Delivery for Maeby?"

She awoke to find a man standing there with a box of Snickers. "Oh, fuel." She turned the box around. "Mexican snickers." She scrawled on his clip board and he left.

Michael walked around him through the door. "You didn't sleep here last night did you?"

"What does it look like?" Her hair looked like a birds nest, eyes sunken in her head.

"Nice looking candy there." Michael commented. "No note?"

"No, the secret admirer strikes again." She shrugged. "Must be someone here, because how would they know to send it today?"

_Much like the wrapper of her American snickers on the ground, George and Lucille would not be left stranded without their candy._

Michael stood in the position closest to the door, arms folded. His sister, brother GOB, and mother sat on the sofa, brother Buster on the other chair, his father standing near the window, and son and fiancée on the other side near the master bedroom wall.

"You don't have the power to cut off the salaries." Lucille skulled and stamped her martini down on the side table.

"They're not salaries. They're stipends. For work. You," Michael gestured, "are all consultants, which means I have complete hiring and firing power."

"We're family." Lucille shot.

"Michael, this company was set up to look after the Bluth family." George ventured.

"That was while you all owned a piece, but all of you, bar me and Maeby, have sold your pieces off. Which are now my pieces." He gazed down at the coffee table, seeing Trivial Pursuit set up. "Why were you playing that?"

"Oh, Dad thought it was a good idea I bone up on my general knowledge, nothing like Trivial Pursuit to help you learn broad knowledge." Lindsay beamed.

"Come on, Michael." Buster shook his head. "Admit it, you're too chicken to try to manage this company without us."

He then proceeded to stand up and flap his arms, and the rest of the children joined in their various versions of the chicken dance.

"No, I'm really not. It will really happen. Next Friday."

"Michael, you can't do this to this family." Lucille pleaded.

Maeby entered the fray, closing the door behind her, brushing hands with Michael as she stood beside him.

"When Maeby came to me asking for money, you know what I said? I said that train has departed, that wagon has moved on, if you want my candy, you have to earn it." He pulled her in closer, his hand around her shoulder.

"This is just because you're not getting any afternoon delight." Lucille shook her head.

Michael's hands slipped from gripping the top of Maeby's shoulder, down slightly.

George Michael shifted uneasily away from Rebel, his eyes tracking his fathers hands.

"I can't believe this, Maeby and I have a solid partnership in fixing this company. We have gotten it back on track." His arm hung uneasily around her neck. "And none of you, are getting to continue to behave as hangers-on." He yanked his arm sidewards, pulling Maeby towards him, and tripping on top of her.

"Doing more mud wrestling are you?" Lucille spat. "Well get ready, son, because we'll be down and in the dirty with you."

George Michael looked on in shock.

"Okay, okay." Michael clambered up from their feet. "We'll see you at the meeting."

In the hallway, Michael remarked, "You do know that you're getting a 50% pay increase next week? Because we can afford to pay our employees, now we're not paying the "employees"."

"Really?"

_It was the easiest money Maeby had ever made, and she wondered why she hadn't' conned her way into this job before._

"Yeah, I think that went well as it could."

"That newspaper must have had a wide circulation if they saw it."

"Yeah, we gotta be more careful next time." Michael patted her opposite shoulder.

_And as he reassured Maeby, they again found themselves in the dirt._

Michael trips and falls on top of her.

_But there was to be no more lowering of principles at this meeting, and it was all to be going full steam._

"I am proposing for the board to formally remove sections of the constitution all references to George Senior Bluth and Lucille Bluth, as they both are no longer employed by this company, and to remove all of their access to the company bank accounts."

Maeby tilted her head back, sinking back into the padded chair.

_Maeby wore her nicest smart black suit to the funeral of her parent's sponging off her own work. Michael, for his part, look similarly smart, and dressed to kill a stipend. But the birds had flown back to the nest of money to roost._

Lucille and George Senior rushed from the elevator, her feather coat being caught in the air as if she were to take off.

_George Senior and Lucille burst into the conference room, finding a table of party food for the post-meeting festivities._

"You get away from this table, we built this company!" Lucille shrieked, her arms flying towards Michael.

He threw his arms back, pushing himself against the wall. "Can we have a minute, board?" He pleaded with the room. The group murmered among themselves, one saying "the old bluths are back", while filing out.

"Mom, I have tried reasoning with you, none of you want to work…"

"I built this whole company!" George Senior insisted. "All it did was sell cornballers!"

The crowd cowers in horror as George Senior splashes Richard Simmons with burning hot oil in the TV studio.

_And only in Mexico. Through selected dealers. _

"Dad, we have sold more houses in a month, than you sold in five years. They say Rome wasn't built in a day, but at that rate, we never would have built a suburb of Rome." Michael placed his hands on his hips.

"Yes, but I was building houses for Saddam, I divested the market exposure to this company, moved the risk."

"Moved the risk where? To the company?"

_Michael was only partly right. The rest of the risk lay personally with the head of the company, which was…Michael Bluth. _

"This company has always been there for the family." George Senior reached out for Michael, whispering, "And it needs to give back. Your sister needs TV advertising, and money for the launch of her integrated parents initiative, I can help you shift the money out of there."

"Maeby has been through your structure." He retorted.

"Deconstructed layer cake?" Maeby offered Ganki and Pop-pop generous helpings.

Lucille sent her the dirtest look she had ever mustered, sticking her feathery arms in the air. "I am proud of this company and your father, proud as a peacock. You Michael," she stormed up to him, "You always claimed you were here for this family. You always said we need to stick together. And where are you now, in our hour of need?"

"I'm not buying into this." Michael shook his head.

"Maeby? You'll let your mother be without money to help improve parenting through schools?"

_It's a shame they hadn't launched the program when Maeby was young, because she really could have used the parenting._

Maeby didn't dignify the request with a response.

"This is the funeral of the Bluth company!"

Michael and Maeby stared back in their black suits and white shirts.

"Look, if you or the rest want to come work for the company, and put in, then come see me again. Otherwise, I'll wait to hear from you."

"Bagel crisps with Pâté?" Maeby offered the plate to her Pop-pop and Ganki, receiving again dirty looks.

"We're not leaving." Lucille insisted.

"Security!" Michael called down the hall. Two beefy guys appeared.

"Oh look its hot cop…" George Senior was cut off by the muscly man dragging him from the room, Lucille hauled by the other man.

"Just hold them there…can the board resume its seats?" Michael called. When everyone was seated, Michael locked the doors and called, "all good, guys."

"You can't do this." George Senior bashed on the locked door from the outside.

"Michael! You get out here now!" Shouted Lucille.

"So regarding formally removing sections of the constitution all references to George Senior Bluth and Lucille Bluth, all in favour?"

The entire table raised its hands.

"All against?"

All of a sudden it rained pennies from the ceiling, left over from GOB's time in management.

"Motion passed. And let me assure you all, that's the last time our profit will come down in pennies."

The board chortled.

George Senior sighed in the hallway. "Well, might as well fly north."

"Don't you mean south? To Boca?" Lucille tossed her head up, the feather coat she was wearing shifting around.

"Yeah, yeah." George Senior's eyes deflected. "That's what I meant."

_The gander left with little protest, and most of the feathers intact._

A trail of feathers lead from the boardroom to the elevator, made by the two with their heads bowed and arms hanging loose before them.

"Our final business for today, approving final funding for Bluthton." Michael widened his palms, resuming his chair. "This is to proceed with the full construction, to fill every lot and fully furnish. We need to take further development money from our Nevada investors," He sent Maeby a cautious look, "But they are happy with their current returns, and our auditors have advised us we should see a profit increase this year."

_Earlier that day, in fact. Which had made Mad Money, even slightly madder. In the excited sense._

"I'm upgrading Bluth, you better believe it, to a 'cautious buy'! The Bluths are finally coming through!"

_Which helped Michael convince the staff to not unlock the doors for his parents._

"Come on, I was your bosss ten years ago?" George senior pleaded.

"You fired me!" The woman glared.

"Well, you were stealing office supplies."

"I took home one paperclip which was stuck to my handbag."

George Senior averted his gaze, "You always had bad hair."

"So, we will go to a vote now?" Michael asked the group. "All those in favour?"

The entire table raised its hands.

"Unanimous. Thank you all."

The board erupted in applause, and Michael and Maeby hugged. "What a fantastic day for the Bluths."

Lucille and George approached their car in the lot below.

"You got the keys?" George asked.

Lucille riffled through her handbag. "I thought you did."

_In fact, the boardroom floor had their keys. It was not going to be a good weekend for either of them. _

_But it would be an interesting one for Michael and Maeby, who were off to a housing conference in Phoenix to brag about selling houses through infomercials._

"So I sold ten in one day, through the power of hypnosis!" Bragged one convener.

"You too can improve your clearance rates through accepting Bitcoin!" Bragged another.

_This may not have been the most prestigious event of its type._

"We're back in Phoenix! Are you excited?" Maeby stirred, dragging her wheelie bag behind her in the slightly daggy hotel lobby.

"Why would I be?" Michael tried to hose her down.

"You always went on about leaving for here with George Michael, every time Michael Bluth was leaving, he was off to Phoenix."

"And why are you talking about me in the third person?"

"Because it's funny. You were never gonna leave."

"I was too!" Michael took umbrage. "I was serious at least…some of those times."

"Nah, you never would have. Not until now."

"Why now?"

"You aren't putting them first now."

Michael stopped at the reservation desk. "Maybe." He dinged the bell on the desk. "Two rooms under Bluth?"

The surely woman scanned her computer. "You mean one room? For two?"

"No, I asked for two rooms?"

_Michael had a new PA. She wasn't very good. At anything. In fact, even Tobias would have made a better PA._

"You get the hell outta here!" He threw a chair at the staff member.

"I need to book for two. For Bluth."

"Two rooms or a room for two?"

"I dunno, whatever is easier. Just charge whoever shows up." The woman checked her phone. "Ah, lunch time."

"Well the order was for two for Bluth, so we have you in one room, sir."

"Can we get a second room then?"

"We're all booked out, Sir." The woman dragged the final R in the sentence.

_But there was another surprise. Which probably shouldn't come as a surprise._

Michael drops his bag on the floor in the doorway. "There's one bed?"

"I'm sorry, Sir." The receptionist replied unapologetically. "There's no spare beds this weekend due to the conference. I'll have them send up a complimentary welcome pack. Sir."

Michael furrowed his brow. "But that's complimentary."

"Only to special guests, Sir."

"Why is it a 'complimentary welcome pack' then?"

"I don't name things, Sir."

_So Michael and Maeby returned to their shared room with its shared bed._

"Is this going to work? I mean, one of us could sleep on the floor…"

"Michael, we're speaking tomorrow, we can't be bunking on the floor, we'll just have to do the whole 'bunking cousins' thing."

"Because that's a thing. You're right, we've got 20 minutes to be out on the floor, mingling."

_And 25 to be on stage presenting. Because this highly prestigious conference had not sent the Bluths the running sheet, so neither of them knew they had been brought forward by a day._

In the 90s foyer, a woman with a clipboard approached them. "Michael, Maeby, you're up next."

"Wait, what?" Michael was beside himself.

"Michael, we'll be fine, just follow my lead." Maeby whispered and patted him on the back.

"Did you know about this?" Michael demanded as they rushed towards the stage.

"Of course not. But this hotel f[beep]ed up our booking, is it a stretch to think they'd do a f[beep]ed up job with the conference?"

"Maeby, you're in a room of our peers who may be able to hear you."

"Sorry, language was the first thing to go when the set got stressed."

_It was._

Andy Richter threw his Donut against the wall of the small trailer. "What the f[beep] is this? S[beep] f[beep]ing quality crap? Is anyone f[beep] f[beep]?"

"Andy, Andy, we'll get you a f[beep]ing cruller, with f[beep]ing custard, just get the f[beep]ing piece costume back on."

"I don't know why I agreed to do a movie about _Trivial Pursuit_.

"The 80s is f[beep] in remember? This will help you beat those f[beep] f[beep] f[beeping]ing s[beeps].

"f[beep]."

"And next we have the Californian company who turned around their profits in a month using the power of infomercials. Give it up for the Bluth Company's Michael Bluth and Maeby Bluth!"

Michael winced with the supposedly incorrect name.

"Hi everyone, I'm Michael, CEO, and this is Maeby, CFO, and we have turned around the Bluth Company in a bit over six short weeks."

"We have used the power of the infomercial to draw attention to our product offerings, highlight our competitive advantage, and signpost our expansionary and synergism intentions to our customers."

_This may have sounded a bit familiar to some in the audience, as it was the same spiel she had used dozens of times with investors._

"…and signpost our expansionary and synergism intentions to our customers." She used the laser pointer against the whiteboard in the boardroom.

"And using these strategies, we have found a doubling of profits across a single month. If we look at those trends, that means a…"

"That means we intend to build on our profits going into the future." Michael interrupted her.

_The SEC were almost certainly in the room, and the wheels would fall off if Maeby gave clear indications to the market in a public space._

"But back on the power of the infomercial, can you run the room through what inspired you to suggest them, Maeby?"

"Absolutely, for many…"

_This back and forth went on for another half hour, until there was time for questions._

The crowd finished their applause of the pair, who had their arms around each others shoulders.

"Michael and Maeby, I've been trying to build a family business for years, I have siblings that won't work but want to cash in, parents who keep interfering, and issues with regulators. Do you think your marriage is the secret to the success of your business?"

"First of all, Maeby isn't a Bluth, her name is Fünke,"

_Actually, her name is Bluth._

George Michael unfolds his marriage certificate to her, mailed from the state of California.

_Because she is married to a Bluth, just not the one on stage with her. And the conference had used legal names. _

"And secondly, you'll need to look at restructuring your business, and discussing how your family can contribute."

_Or you could go the more direct route, as Michael actually did. When the business executives were done for their hour, they returned to the foyer._

"I'm gonna see if our welcome pack has arrived." Michael headed towards the elevator.

"I'll see you up there."

_Just then Maeby's actual husband called, amid setting up for his engagement party._

"Hey, Maeby, how are things?"

"Oh, you know, hot, but not wet or steamy."

"Really?"

"I'm in Phoenix with Michael."

"Speaking of dad, how did the meeting go?"

"Ganki and Pop-pop aren't on the payroll anymore." Maeby said flatly.

"What are you doing in Phoenix?"

"Just a conference. You would not believe it, they stuck us in the same room, with one bed."

"Oh. And they can't fix it?"

"Comically, apparently not."

"Right. I better go."

"Hey good luck with the engagement party."

"Thanks." He mumbled. He then dialled again.

Michael answered his phone, coming through the hotel room door. "Hey son, how are you? Sorry I can't be there tonight."

"That's fine. You and Maeby having a good time?"

"Yeah, they've put us in this really spacious room with a balcony."

"One room?"

"Yeah. Mix up. We were supposed to get two."

"Huh, how about that."

_Michael Bluth had usually told his son when something had bothered him, with not much prying. Usually too much information._

"George-Michael, I'm sure that Egg is a very nice person, I just don't want you spendin' all your money gettin' her all glittered up for Easter, you know? I don't think you're ready."

"I told Lindsay not to teach him, I was going to video tape that hop-on…I was going to teach you, you know that. Just forget everything she taught you and we'll start over."

"Yeah."

"I'll leave you to it."

"Thanks, and good luck with tonight! I know you two are made for each other."

George Michael felt like his father had returned the slug, to the gut. "Thanks."

_Back at the hotel room, Michael had found his welcome pack. Full of spa vouchers, massage for two, and a Bluth favourite…_

"…body chocolate." Michael read the label.

_…just as Maeby had returned from returned from wagon wheels._

"Maeby. Still talking up those informercials I see." Denis Wagon narrowed his eyes.

"Yes. Haven't the charges been dropped yet? Or are you awaiting further depositions from Sitwells?" She retorted.

"Maybe we could talk about this in your room."

"Maybe you could talk about this with Bob Loblaw." She passed him a card.

"I don't have time for Bob Loblaw! You Bluths keep coming up again and again, we could fix things today." He looked her up and down. "Without the use of the wheel. Because I will have you, Maeby."

"Oh my God, no." She put her coffee down.

"Oh, a massage and a spa, just what I need." She went into her suitcase, pulling out something, and returned from the bathroom in a string bikini. "You wanna come?"

"Yep."

_Michael and Maeby enjoyed the bubbles, with the complimentary bubbly, in the heart shaped tub. This shape was due to the logo of the hotel being a heart. Unfortunately, with the multiple mergers and a messy family split with the Hatecher family, the original 'Loveheart' name of the hotel had given way to a compromise. _

"I can't say that the Hatelove Hotel has been the best experience, but this sure beats boardroom meetings." Michael mused.

"The goose liver pate was pretty good though."

"You were really good today, you did like 90% of the work up there."

"Ten years in showbiz has to count for something."

"No, I don't know what I'd have done without you." His hand travelled up her shoulder.

Maeby smilled. "Well, I don't know if I could have quite told Ganki and Pop-pop so clearly they couldn't keep writing cheques from the company accounts."

"A guy has gotta be useful for something." He winked at her.

"I'd so love to watch Walls Street tonight, so gritty."

_But all good spa's must come to an end. _

"Michael and Maeby Bluth, please return to the conference hall." The PA boomed distortedly into the room.

"I have gotta get on top of that Maeby Bluth…" Michael mumbled, pulling himself out of the tub.

_And as the pair sought to return, they once again got themselves caught in a further entanglement._

Michael tripped and they found themselves wrapped around each other, on the bed, nose to nose, still in swimwear. Not saying a word for what seemed like eternity, but was more like half a minute.

"You have really blue eyes." Maeby remarked quietly.

"I don't know how many freckles you have on your face, but so far I've counted 128."

"I hate them."

"I think they're cute."

"Michael and Maeby Bluth, please come in the conference hall."

"We better get onto that." Michael pondered.

As they returned to the hall, applause broke out. "Here they are, the Bluths, who have achieved from Mad Money's 'don't buy' to a 'Buy' in five short weeks! And are in construction of a groundbreaking new development, 'Bluthton'. Please welcome to the stage our winner of the Californian Achievers Award!"

As Phantom Planet's _California _blasted through the hall, Michael subconsciously took her wrist as they powered towards the stage.

"Thank you. Thank you everyone." Michael blathered, "They say Rome wasn't built in a day, with Maeby, we almost have. Thank you everyone. Do you have anything to add?" He stepped aside from the microphone.

"Michael Bluth has tried all kinds of stuff throughout the years to make this company great. Finally, he did the one thing that could only have worked – he shed himself of the interference that has plagued it for decades. Now, we are the strongest we have ever been. Thank you."

Michael took her hand and lifted it high in the air, the other holding up the award.

They left the stage to the chorus of _California._

_Back in the room, the winners were grinners._

"I didn't know conferences gave out awards?"

"This place is full of surprises." Michael remarked, heading to answer the knock on the door. "It's for you?"

"Delivery for Maeby Funke?" He held out the clipboard. Tearing it open, she found a DVD of the 1980s film, _Walls Street_.

"Another delivery from the mystery admirer." She flipped over the package. "Wait, no, this has your name on it?"

"Oh." Michael looked uncomfortable, "This is why I never moved to Phoenix…"

"No, you never moved here because it's hot and the rest of the family wasn't here." She stepped towards him. "You sent me all of that stuff, didn't you?"

Michael looked sheepish. "Yeah, I did. You didn't seem to have a date for Valentine's Day, and you look liked you needed your favourite candy."

Maeby beamed. "It's very sweet." She picked up from the bed, "Body chocolate?"

"Maybe."

_Back in California, George Michael phoned in the engagement party, feeling like he was experiencing de ja vu._

The room was full of movie types in hipster clothing. In the background, _My Love_ by JT was booming.

"You're so lucky, she's such a lovely woman." The studio exec lifted the Champaign flute.

"Yeah, she was very talented."

"What do you mean, she's still working there?" she gestured to Rebel.

"Her?" George Michael returned to reality. "Oh of course, I meant she'd just taken a break. For Lem."

"Of course, she always does that…"

George Michael's phone sounded, and looking he found a picture of the body chocolate.

'Haha, what were they thinking – Maeby'

_And the rest was a blur._

In the dead of night, George Michael stood outside on the balcony, a bottle against the glass and half empty glass in hand with brown liquor.

"Are you coming to bed?"

"I will soon." He called back.

He took another slip, shifting around.

_The hours slipped away, as did most of the bottle, and he found himself achieving a Bluth milestone, getting drunk in the dark._

George Michael leaned into the couch, staring into space in the unlit room. Later, his head dropped to one side, and he fell asleep, the bottle in his hand.

_From Midnight in Balboa Bay, it struck eleven in Phoenix, the two finished the cheap Champaign in the basket, on the balcony of their large room with the single bed._

"I can safely say, Rome wasn't built in a day, but we've done our best."

"I don't think there's anyone down there that has matched us, Michael."

"No, but it's an interesting conference."

"That would be an understatement."

"Oh, an email from the SEC. The charges have been dropped. It's the end of the Wagon ride."

"I wonder why."

_Maeby had hit record on her phone when the last tirade had come from Wagon, and then emailed it to the SEC. Which had helped them make a decision._

"We've gotta stop employing single men in their 40s." The director bemoaned from across his desk.

"Who else would work for us?" Asked the thin male with rounded glasses.

_Who indeed._

"Why didn't you ever get involved before?" Michael asked.

"The management of this company…just infighting between you and the family. Not worth it."

"Well I'm glad you accepted my offer."

She smiled.

"I've been meaning to ask you…I haven't kept you away from anyone, have I?"

"No, I should probably tell you…I'm a registered sex offender."

"How?"

"I had sex with a seventeen year old."

"Huh." Michael shook his head. "There's so much I don't know about you."

"Not really. I'm married to George Michael though. For eight years."

"How?"

"Mock wedding, apparently you signed the certificate?"

"Wow."

"Yeap."

"I wonder who forged my signature that time, just confirms why I don't care about the family anymore… And apart from that, I don't know why you're single. You're gorgeous, feisty, intelligent…"

"You know, you're the first guy who's said anything like that in years."

_Michael had nothing to say back, as his eyes did the talking for him._

Fireworks broke out in the distance, reds, pinks, and whites.

Maeby leaned up to meet his semi-parted lips, softly kissing them, then pulling away to see the rawness in his eyes. His palms slid over her from front to back, moaning into her mouth, her arms wrapping around his head, pulling him closer. They continued to embrace, the fireworks climaxing with a heart.

_On the next episode of Bluthton, Michael tries to fire his incompetent PA gently,_

The woman looks up to see a delivery man with a bunch of daisies. "Ugh, a signature." She scrawls on his clipboard and looks in the bouquet for the sender. "That secret admirer again? Oh well, eleven, lunch time."

_But is thwarted by the same flower delivery man again._

The delivery man's wheel screech forward, causing the flower card to flip over.

'Sorry about the loss of your job. Regards, Michael Bluth.'


	2. Spanish Fever

Michael slipped his hands underneath Maeby, lifting her legs and back up, not breaking off the kiss. He walked through the room door, sliding it closed behind him, and back into their room, laying her on the bed. He started undoing her buttons. Her hands found his buckle, pulling his pants down. He pulled off her shirt, climbing onto the bed in his boxers. Her eyes sparkled, and she giggled as he kissed her neck, and down her chest, unhooking her bra with minimal effort.

"You know, I've been dying to know what's beneath those shirts of yours." He whispered.

She reached up, unbuttoning his, revealing his toned chest. "I hope you're as impressed as I am." She grinned.

His hands found her lumps beneath her bodice, massaging them, and he moaned as much as she did through deep kisses. One hand freed itself and slipped downward over her toned young skin, finding what was beneath her layers. She moaned deeper, her back arching, as his hand slipped further. "Oh Michael, Michael, Michael…"

He felt her shiver in his arms, and when she had stopped, slowly a look of deep pleasure crept across her face.

"Maeby, do you want me to go on?" he brushed the hair from her face.

She looked deep into his blue eyes, "did you finger bang me so I'd say yes?"

"Well, um…" He mumbled.

She smiled cheekily, and pushed him over onto his back, slipping off the rest of her clothes, and his boxers. He inhaled sharply, feeling her handling him. She then climbed on top, moaning as he went deeper.

Michael couldn't stop grinning from the ecstasy of the sensations from being inside her, and then watching her jiggle in front of him, up, and down, over and over again, and the expressions on her face while being so intimate with her. He reached around, groping her and gripping her waist. His breathing slowed, trying desperately to keep the momentum and moment going on forever.

Maeby enjoyed the waves of pleasure washing through her, and sitting atop of the toned but mature man, her fingers tracing his six-pack and pecks. However, she started to perspire, having never gone for so long, the beads of sweat running down her chin, neck, bodice and its tips, which only sought to prolong Michael, desiring her even more. But her breath started to become laboured.

Michael rolled on top, grinding into her, exchanging tongues with her deeper and deeper, moaning harder and harder, until he was unable to keep kissing and moaning. He watched her expressions change from ecstasy to effort, and back.

Maeby enjoyed looking deep in Michael's eyes as he continued, and trace the lines of maturity on his face, having never felt so close to anyone while making love.

Eventually, she felt a wave of joy wash over her, and shortly after, Michael did too.

"Wow." She panted. "Do all men your age last that long?"

Michael smiled mischievously. "I'm just talented." He ran a line of kisses down her chest, and found himself, and his tongue, below her belly button.

"Oh my gosh!" She gasped, and then proceeded to moan, the faster his tongue moved, pulling her towards her peak again. When her moans had finished at their their highest point, he entered her again, alternating sucking each of her pink tips in his mouth.

Her nails travelled down his rippled back, digging in as the pleasure surged through her body, her voice getting louder with each dig.

The feeling of her grip send him wild, driving himself deeper inside of her. He felt her breath deepening as she adjusted to his rhythm. He carried her underneath to the wall, pressing her against it, continuing until both of them finished. He let go of her, and she sunk to the floor.

She looked up and beamed, starting to suck.

He had to steady himself, not expecting her tongue to be so inquisitive, running the length and teasing the tip.

"Oh Maeby, Oh…Oh…"

He felt the dirty fantasies he'd quickly repressed in the past resurfacing in his mind, Maeby sucking him off in his desk chair, making love to her in a sea of the contracts to Bluthton on his desk, her coming into work with nothing under a skirt and him fingering her in the copy room.

The longer Maeby's tongue travelled, the more he longed to release, and he found it much harder than before, until he had surged.

She smiled at him, as she stood up, and he lay deep kisses into her mouth. "I want to go deeper…" He murmured.

"How?"

He turned her around by the waist, gently pushed her down into the bed, kissing down her spine, and took a deep breath as he gently pushed into her. His hands went down, rubbing between her thighs, causing her to curve upwards. He went in further, until he felt himself fully engorged, having never felt such desire. The curves of her back and the mop of her hair bounced from his actions, and she continued to moan. He kept pacing himself to go on further and longer than before, focusing hard than he ever had.

Maeby enjoyed the sensations he kept projecting inside her, driving up her spine, wave after wave.

When Michael could hold no longer, he had a huge release, the feelings flooding his body, his fingers speeding up. She moaned deeply, but she hadn't quivered the entire time. Michael kneeled down on the bed, his tongue looking for the tiny spot that would make her scream.

She then made a noise that would have woken Canada, then flopped into the comforter.

He sat down on the bed beside her, running his hand through her hair. "Are you happy?"

"Of course." She rolled over.

"There's nobody in the world as beautiful as you, Maeby."

"Are you saying that through an orgasm fog, or…."

"And nobody as cheeky." He grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the pillows and under the covers. "You are beautiful." He whispered, kissing her softly.

_The lovers drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms. And yes, they were left the room by themselves while all that was going on. It was just way too intense. _

_Away from the oasis, George Michael woke from his drunken stupidor at around 4:30am. Realising his fiancée was still sound asleep, he went about finding his car, to find something else he was missing._

George Michael climbed into his car, clipping his phone into its holster. "Journey time: 5 hours, 20 minutes." He groaned in exhaustion.

_But George Michael would find other things he was not missing – massive roadworks on the interstate._

He groaned harder, as the traffic ground to a halt.

"Journey time: 7 hours, 20 minutes."

He did a u-turn, speeding back towards Orange County.

_It would be another half hour before George Michael could make it to the airport, finding yet another thing he would not miss._

"Five hundred bucks to go to Phoenix!?" He exclaimed from the reservation desk.

"There's a big conference there or something. Flights have been booked solid for months."

He groaned again, pulling out his credit card.

_Having not brought any entertainment for the flight. George Michael was lucky enough to get an inflight magazine. One that was several years old, and featured his father._

He groaned harder.

The woman in the seat beside him leant over. "I've heard that company are on the up and up."

"I think that man is screwing the woman I love." He seethed.

"Power will do funny things to people." She remarked apologetically.

_At least she hadn't recognised him as George Maheras. That would have been weird. But the man behind him, did._

An hour later, George Michael disembarked, the man from the flight shadowing him. He headed towards the car reservations desk.

"$300? For a car for a day?"

"You're under 25, and there's this big…"

"I know." He groaned. "Take my money." He threw his card at her.

"Get down! Hands in the air!" A group of black clad airport security guards with machine guns rushed towards the desk.

"Okay, okay" George Michael threw his hands up, both of which were pulled behind his back as he was pushed to the desk.

"Name?"

"George Michael Bluth."

"Louder!"

"George Michael Bluth!" He shouted.

The man from the plane tapped on his iPad, from a short distance.

"You gonna assault this woman?"

"No, no sir."

"Good."

"So you'll be taking insurance?" the listless woman behind the desk asked.

"How much?" he muttered, his face pressed against the bench

"$100."

He groaned.

_The burning hot sun rose over Phoenix, and the eyes that would be burning of the back of his head had he not run off would track him down in the desert._

His phone had notifications of finding five messages and two voicemails. And the phone immediately ringing.

"Where are you?" Rebel demanded.

"Family emergency." He mumbled quickly.

"You didn't come to bed last night, you're gone this morning, what's going on George?"

"I'm in Phoenix. I gotta go." He hung up on her, the phone slipping from his hand, the screen cracking. He groaned.

_Despite his lack of success, he wasn't without it completely, identifying the hotel from the creepy photo Maeby had sent him. But George Michael's luck wasn't about to change yet._

George Michael saw Maeby standing in the doorway between the business center and the lobby. "Maeby, am I glad to see you."

"Oh hey, George Michael. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. Did something happen last night?"

"Like…?"

George Michael said nothing, and Maeby didn't clarify.

Maeby was then yanked to one side, when he heard a familiar voice. He stepped forward to see his fathers arms wrapped around his cousin, kissing her deeply. Maeby hadn't had a second to protest.

"Oh…my…gosh…" George Michael could barely utter two words, let alone the third.

Michael released and held a look of sheer horror on his face, with Maeby looking shell-shocked.

"You did eat that chocolate last night." George Michael muttered to himself.

"Hi Son." Michael stated cautiously.

"Did you know that's my wife?"

"Yeap." Michael's hands went up to form a human shield. "but don't do anything you'll regret, okay? Please?" he backed away, trying to back towards the corner of the room.

_George Michael had always swung at men who had wronged him with women. He had done it for Ann. He had done it for Rebel. But this time, something was different. This was beyond a woman who was notionally good on paper, this was someone the aggressor had known for over a decade he was interested in. Had feelings for. Possibly, knowing his love. And yet, there was no sign of remorse. No sign of apology. Just cowering. And that he was already engaged to someone else._

George Michael bolted towards the outside door, disappearing into the distance.

"Wow, I thought he was going to pop you."

"I think we should go back upstairs."

_Which is what they did._

Michael patted the bed, and Maeby sat down. "I need to ask you seriously."

"What's going on?"

"George Michael has a temper. That impact I said your advice made, it was to my face. He told me almost ten years ago that he had feelings for you. He'll be back. Maeby, I don't want to push you into anything but…if you make a decision, perhaps he won't…"

_It was a nice idea, but it hadn't worked before._

On the end of the boat, the beaming sun was not going to brighten the day for the news George Michael was about to receive.

"It's really not that big of a deal, George Michael. I'm 18 now, and besides, we really haven't even done anything." Ann stated, matter-of-factly.

"Practically nothing." Standing beside Ann, GOB showed his teeth. "But what are you going to do? The girl obviously needs a man."

George Michael then punched GOB in the face.

Maeby sighed. A moment later her phone started to ring; George Michael.

"Maybe there's a third way out of this. I need some air." She said casually, taking her bag and phone and closing the door behind her, then answering her phone.

"We need to talk." George Michael demanded.

"I know."

"Do you know that fountain that looks like a heart with a spear through it?"

"Yeah. I'll be there shortly."

_And Michael would not be left out of the phone party either._

Michael was left to ponder his situation, when his own phone rang.

"Michael Bluth, of the Bluth Company? This is Goran Crack, of the Los Angeles Pynnacle. Do you wish to comment on your sexual relationship with your niece? Why is your son in love with his cousin, who is also his wife?"

He hung up.

_George Michael and Maeby were due to meet at another creepy feature of the resort. Did we mention the Hatelove hotel was a tad creepy? _

"Hey." Maeby joined him on the fountain, a heart with black tiling and spears through it.

"Hey." George Michael offered.

"What are you doing here?"

"I want to know what happened last night."

"Why would you care, you fired me, I almost had to leave town my reputation was so bad."

George Michael became frustrated. "Is that what this is? My dad gives you money and you throw yourself at him?"

"I don't need this…" Maeby stood up.

"No. Tell me what happened." He grabbed her wrist.

She yanked away. "Why would I?"

"Because I'm your husband. Because…I will throw it all in with Rebel Alley, just spend a night with me. Please."

"You think that's what I'm like?" Maeby flinched. "I just casually decided to have sex with Michael?"

His eyes widened, and he shook his head, mouthing "No…"

Her eyes shined with resentment, and she stormed back to the hotel.

"Wait…Don't leave me." He cried out.

_Maeby left one stressed Bluth male to find another._

She returned to the room to find Michael pacing the carpet.

"We have a problem."

"We have two problems."

"Okay, do you think yours is bigger?"

"What's wrong, Michael?"

"The media knows about you and I, that we are related, that George Michael came here to track you down, and his feelings for you."

"Okay." Maeby sat down slowly. "I think we should deny."

"That's what I was thinking. That fight was regarding some sort of…family issue. They know we've been fighting." He turned to her. "So are you sticking around?"

"Yes, Michael. But George Michael knows."

"Okay."

"He did as you said he would, he tried to fight for me."

Michael reached to his bedside table, picking up a piece of paper. "I think this could help."

She unfolded it slowly. It was an _FL-100_, otherwise known as an application for divorce. She looked at it with a pained look on her face.

"Just think about it." He leaned over to her, planting a soft kiss on her cheek.

She lay back on the bed, her t-shirt riding up, showing her belly. Michael rubbed the soft skin with his hand, kissing the warm flesh. She murmured with pleasure. His hands slid up her top, unhooking and scooping her bra with the rest of her clothing. She reached for his shirt, the buttons sliding open. He unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants and underpants, and reached for her belt, pulling off the layers.

"Do you still want to do this? He leaned over her. "You can step away now, I just don't get into relationships lightly…"

"You want a relationship?"

"Of course."

_Maeby felt like she was drawn to the deep blue eyes of his man, like no other deep blue thing before, including the posters of the Oceanwalker which she had refused to approve. But this time, she didn't feel like there was an optional response._

She stroked his cheek. "Yes, I want to be with you."

He leaned in, tender kisses, as they made gentle love together.

Later, Maeby's phone rang again; George Michael.

"Hi."

"Please meet me downstairs again. In the bar. I need to speak to you."

"The journalist wants me to blame this all on Dad." George Michael slid his drink off the coaster on the worn red table.

"What would that do?"

"Me, the son that thought dating a cousin was fine, you, the niece who was convinced dating an uncle was fine. He's the maniac."

"What would happen to the company?"

George Michael went silent.

_Maeby may have been angry and confused, but she could smell the overcooked fried bird from the gourmet restaurant of the hotel, and other forms of poultry…from six paces._

"Wait. This isn't from that journalist, this is from Ganki and Pop-pop!"

"Maeby…I will give you a house wherever you want, whatever car, we can take things slow, I have enough money so you will never need work again."

"You really believe them." She spat. "They have been lying to us for years, George Michael, we had to share a model home with extended family because there was no money. They won't give you or I a cent."

_Or not enough to keep Maeby in the life she was accustomed to._

"Please. Think about it. This can't end well, Maeby."

She gazed into his begging eyes.

_It was a new experience for Maeby to be begged for sex, one which she felt uneasy about. But she had to weigh her options. What could be of a relationship with a non-maternal uncle, running a company together? What of the family that while supporting her poorly, had provided her shelter and food for the most part, for the first 20 years of her life? There was maybe one decision in all of it._

She tied her hair in a messy ponytail, gazing at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. With a broken voice, she whispered into her phone. "Michael…there's something I need to do. Please forgive me." And hung up on him.

She closed the door behind her, finding what was a drab hotel room flickering with the soft light of dozens of candles, the white bedspread sprinkled with rose petals.

George Michael stepped towards her, handing her a red rose.

The sweet scent of roses wafted throughout the room, overwhelming her senses as she inhaled deeply.

He took her other hand, pulling her towards the bed, heading towards the bench and returning with a tray that included a bottle of Champaign and two flutes.

"Do you remember when we first kissed? I Think about that afternoon every day." He handed her a glass. He then took one of the strawberries, dipped it in the chocolate, and ate it. The second, he placed in her mouth. "When nobody in your family remembered your birthday, cared that you were failing, or was listening, I was there for you. It was never to get you into bed,"

_It was. But only some of the time._

"…it was because you were the most special person to me in the world. There's no woman in this world who can take your place, my love. All I want to show you is how I will be everything you could ever need. There's just one thing I need from you." He removed the tray from the bed

He leaned in, kissing her. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her beneath him. He continued his trail of kisses down her neck, unbuttoning her shirt, Maeby flat on her back. He moaned in joy, feeling the resistance of her soft chest against his tongue, unhooking the barrier from them.

_George Michael had learned a lot from Spain. And from when he took Maeby to second base._

She heaved, the bliss of his mouth surging through her.

He groaned in joy, feeling her body respond from his touch. His hands slipped downwards, finding her fly and buckle, which were soon away from her. The trail of his mouth continued south, tongue exploring the uncharted territories.

Maeby went flushed, gasping for air from the sensations flooding her body. The longer George Michael went, the harder the pressure built. She moaned at her highest octave and trembled for the last time, with George Michael grinning, crawling on top of her. He kissed her lips slowly, hands gently feeling her all over, then his tongue went looking for hers. He pulled himself up and inside of her, his gentle movements matching her breathing and sending her senses catapulting.

"Maeby…I love you…ahhh…" He moaned, his desire rising from her response from his motions.

When he had climaxed, he sat up next to her, cuddling her, as the gentle light candle light flickered against the walls. Eventually, grabbing a robe from the floor, he reached towards the side table. He kneeled before her, opening a felt box with a white gold ring with a large solitaire diamond.

"Maeby I've never been more sure about anything in my life, I love you, come with me, and we can build a life together. I'll let you run my company. Please?"

_Maeby sat and pondered through dogs barking, street racing and several shots being fired. The HateLove was not in the best neighbourhood._

"I love Michael."

George Michael was crestfallen.

"I think you could be happy with Rebel." She collected her clothes.

"What you have with him can't last. Everyone's gonna know soon. Do you think the investors will stick around?"

"That's not your concern." Her voice sharpened.

"Believe it or not, I care about you." George Michael took both of her elbows. "There's a tomorrow, there's next week, what then?"

"I'll cross those bridges." She insisted, and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodbye, George Michael."

_Maeby returned to the hotel room she shared, only to find him her bunking buddy out the front._

"I'm sorry."

He said nothing, opening the door, to show the room lined with flickering candles.

She doubled over in laugher, almost crying. Laughing a little too hard, her emotions still a bit raw.

_Bluth men do think alike. Need we say more?_

"That's the last big romantic gesture I do for you."

"No, no, it's beautiful. Just, you don't wanna know."

"Maeby." He pierced her with his deep blue eyes, "I don't want whatever that was ever happening again."

"I'm sorry." She repeated.

"It hurt so much, and, I love you."

Her eyes lit up and she pulled him in close.

He buried his face into her neck and shoulders.

"Can we talk to Bob Loblaw about the divorce?"

"Of course." He smiled.

_Barry Zuckercorn knew emancipation. Barry Zuckercorn knew the law that happens part a certain point on the coastline. But Barry Zuckercorn does not know divorce law._

Surrounded by Lucille, George Michael, and George Senior at the penthouse, Barry replies, "I don't think she can do that. I mean, you haven't lived together in so long, surely the courts would say, 'give it another shot first'. I think we can put this one to bed."

_But Bob Loblaw does not lie down easily. In fact, he doesn't lie down at all, rather he sleeps in a reclining chair, with a patented dictation system attached in case his REM cycles create ideas for his Bob Loblaw Law Blog. A blog void of ideas on sleeping, but a lot on divorce._

In Bob Loblaw's boardroom, he sat without his client. "So my client hasn't lived with her spouse in seven years. She also accumulated no property while living with him in that short period they lived together, eight years ago. Under Californian law, my client can get a no-fault divorce with none of these things. What exactly is your argument?"

Barry nodded slowly, turning to George Michael. "He's good."

"Infidelity. I saw her kissing another man."

"Like this?" Bob Loblaw opened a file, holding up and flipping through Facebook photos of George Michael and Rebel kissing and horsing around.

_For the king of Fakeblock, George Michael had not gotten a handle on his privacy settings._

"I've tried to make this marriage work, and she hasn't." George Michael got flustered.

"Some candles and strawberries seven years later are not a legal basis to challenge a divorce." Bob replied, coldly.

"Incest. With her uncle."

"Or with you. Her cousin."

"This is not fair!" George Michael cried out.

"Justice is blind. As seems to be your family." He turned to his stenographer. "Strike that last remark."

_And the divorce was finalised. As one case of blindness was struck down through the courts, another was affirmed through the media._

"There is no incest in this family." Michael stood in front of the media pack, behind a lectern, set up in his office with all the furniture pushed to one side and chairs set up in the middle. Maeby stood to one side.

"So you refute a dozen witnesses that saw you kiss your niece last week?"

"No, we were merely greeting as family members."

"They say you were open mouth kissing."

Michael paused, "that's not what I recall."

"So you are not having a sexual relationship with your CFO, and niece, Maeby Bluth."

"Her name is Fünke."

"Answer the question."

"She isn't my maternal niece as my sister, who is her mother, are adopted. But, no. We are not."

_Later that night, a figure appeared in the darkened hallway._

"Hello?" Michael called from his now re-placed desk.

_But someone would beat him to it, and save Michael from a beating. At least for now._

"Come here." Maeby called from her doorway down the hall. When he had entered her office, she shut the door. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to see my dad."

"No, you don't. Have you apologised to Rebel yet?"

"Sorry?"

"For disappearing in the middle of the night, and for phoning in the entire engagement party. She told me what happened."

"I couldn't give a f[beep] about that."

"Well you should." Maeby retorted.

"The only marriage I wanted, you ended."

"George Michael, you wanted to f[beep] me when you did that all those years ago. I gave you what you wanted."

"You think that's all it ever was to me…"

"You were coming onto me pretty strong at UCLA, I know you were trying to bang me there too."

_He was, as was his roommate. If only Algebra hadn't gotten in the way._

"I gave you your fantasy. Why do you keep trying to drag this up?"

"I don't get you."

_George Michael suffered what men his age suffer in a modern world full of women who either don't know what they want, or know they want something different – 'nice guy syndrome'. They become convinced somehow being nice means women owe them a debt of eternal gratitude, paid in sexual favours and a relationship. George Michael was about to get hit with what a lot of these men suffer from – a lack of gratitude, and a turning embittered._

"I was that guy who was there for you for so long. I was that guy who always went out of his way to help you. I was the guy who got myself into trouble to save your skin. And how much of these things has Michael ever done for you?"

"What are you talking about, you fired me. That's the only break I've had in what, five years?"

"And Michael took you on."

"When I screwed up, he told me to never lie to him again. He didn't fire me. Sometimes things are not meant to be."

"It's that simple, is it?"

"Go home to your fiancée. She loves you." She patted him on the shoulder, opening the door. She watched him walk sullen to the elevator, head and arms drooped.

When the lift had closed, Maeby joined Michael.

"What did he want?"

She sat on his desk. "I think he more wanted to see you. But I'd prefer to not get more holes in these walls, they cost a fortune to fix when GOB did it."

"I can't keep wondering, Maeby, it's driving me nuts. What did you do that night you were with him?"

"We had sex. More than once. Then he proposed. And I said no. He has fantasied about having sex with me for years, I thought if I could give him one afternoon of pleasure, he'd realise what he had was better, and go back to her."

"But he hasn't."

"I think he's angrier at me now than you, but that he still might attack you if given a chance. I'm just trying to get through to him, you know."

_Michael was in the dark carpark, when he was finally troubled._

He answered his phone. "Hey, George Michael."

"So you aren't ignoring my calls."

"No. Of course not. Why would I?"

"I came to talk to you, and she dragged me away from you."

"She's concerned. Last time we talked one-on-one there were fists involved, buddy."

"What else have you told her about me? About the time when I was three and I s[beep] myself on a one of those flying chair things and it went everywhere? About the light sabre video in the garage?"

_Nobody would want to see the first one, but for those interested, the second is on YouTube._

"I think she knows about the second, and I had forgotten about the first until you reminded me."

"She's the age of your son, does it ever occur to you?"

"Look, I'm sorry it didn't work out between you two and nothing happened…"

"Because you stood in the way!"

"I said at sixteen it wasn't a good idea. I still think that. But you saw her not a year ago."

"And you came barging into the dorm, interrupting me!"

"You two were doing algebra, but, I'm sorry if I did."

_George Michael failed to mention that she was in fact still pursuing Perfecto Telles, and had rejected him shortly after that. Or rather, he failed to muster up the courage to make more than a cursory investigation, find out Perfecto was 17, and strategically insert himself into the situation. But don't say it hasn't been said George Michael has limitations._

"You know, I just can't help thinking, this is what you wanted all along."

"No, no, it just all happened. We were working together really closely. She's just…amazing doesn't describe it."

"Well she told me she loved you…after she f[beep]ed me. So I don't know what you make of that."

_Michael's heart leapt, as she hadn't told him the same thing. And then sunk, reminded how she'd slept with another man. Maeby seemed to joke of bonking other men, and this scared Michael, as he was incapable of focusing on more than one woman at a time._

"I don't make anything of it."

"Well, then I guess I'll see you around."

"Okay, bye George Michael."

_But Michael and Maeby weren't to continue to escape their family for much longer. In fact, their family would mean they couldn't escape the family._

"It's Midterms, it's Midterms again!" The loud TV woman boomed. "And we have quite a field. Sitwell versus Bluth. It's tight, and it's set to get tighter."

In the modern apartment, Michael relaxed on his modern pale couch, one arm around Maeby's shoulder.

Michael's phone rang. "Michael, we might have a problem. There's video from the hotel of you and Maeby in the business center. And they're saying they'll release it in the next week."

"Thanks, Bob. I'll get back to you." He hung up. "They have video of us from the hotel, they'll release it next week. They must be doing this to get to your mother."

Maeby sighed impatiently. "Can we buy them off?"

_Maeby would give a cent to her mother's campaign, but for some reason was asking about giving money to a campaign supporting the opponent's campaign._

"I doubt it. Why don't we pull forward the first five Bluthton houses and do a new infomercial, as a start."

"Sure. We can afford to get the contractors for longer days."

"Next week?"

"The landscaping might be a bit questionable, but the rest, sure."

_Questionable, or non-existent? It was all a bit hazy when such words were in the mix, but so was the idea anyone could finish five houses in five days._

She snuggled into his broad chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in. "You know how to make a girl feel safe, Michael."

He ran his fingers down her arms, "You're not just any girl. You're mine, my one and only. I love you."

She turned and kissed him, pressing herself against him, unbuttoning his shirt. She then unbuckled and unzipped his pants. She started to lick and suck, teasing the tip, smiling as he moaned. She cupped him, lightly stroking. Her lips continued most of the action, running up and down the length.

Michael gasped and moaned, the sensations rushing through him. He wanted to watch her, enjoying it too much, but then also close his eyes and see the beautiful lights and colours he kept seeing from the rush, it all being over for what felt like too soon.

She smiled, and climbed on top of him.

"You. Are. Amazing."

"Thanks."

"No, you are. And I want you to know, whatever happens, in life, whatever, you can trust me. I'm here for you." He added, "Whether you do that, or otherwise."

She smiled, going into a drawn out kiss.

_And with drama and tragedy, there is ecstasy and agony, this time, with an aunt._

"We have got to stop this." Lindsay threw her fist against the large wooden desk. "We are so close, this will destroy us. People already know this family has gone through some…diversions."

_Lindsay had a way with words. She had been trained, as most politicians are. It wasn't the Lindsay everyone had come to know and love._

Lindsay waved her hands about in the family room, talking to Michael. "There is a cream with real diamonds in it. I can actually smear diamonds on my face! And it's only $400 a tub! That's like, what, like a million diamonds for $400? A million f[beep]ing diamonds!"

Rita, Michael's then girlfriend, and Lindsay, returned from shopping, discussing their haul with Michael in the model home hallway.

**"**You guys have these jackets on inside out?" Michael asks.

**"**Yeah, that way you see the label." Rita smiled.

**"**Yeah, I mean, that's what you're paying for, right? It's a great statement on fashion." Lindsay added.

At the stove, she declared proudly, "I call it, hot ham water!" She held out the wooden spoon with ham broth.

She looked at her parents, who were pacing the antique wooden office.

"But we have an excellent story to tell. What is this, how did it get out?"

"Your brother has taken control of the Bluth Company." George Senior started.

"I'm aware of that." Lindsay shouted. "I had to beg some other developers for cash. Do you know how much I had to w[beep] myself out?"

_It wasn't like Lindsay hadn't w[beep]ed herself out for politics before._

"Sweetie…Calm down. Your daughter is in there as his financial person, and had gone through our books and shelf companies from top to bottom. There was no-where left to hide the money. They seemed to have been in cahoots for a while."

"Something weird was definitely going on there when we were there." Lucille added. "They were very chummy."

"What is this tape? What's on it?"

"We don't know. We haven't seen it."

"George Michael is on the f[beep]ing tape, get him in here now!" She shouted.

_Four coffees later, George Michael joined the inquisition, dragged away from his failing business. In the meantime, Lindsay's fashion minders had dressed her for an upcoming fundraising event, in one of the latest trends, the layered coat._

The minders disappeared out the door, as George Michael cowered in the corner. Lindsay stood from behind her desk in the red coat with a shoulder cape that went around the entire top of the coat, and had a red, broad brimmed felt hat with several flowers in one corner. "What did you see?" She demanded.

George Michael stood a crumpled mess in the corner. "I really don't want to get involved, Aunt Lindsay."

"What the f[beep] is this? Are we just gonna hand Sitwell a f[beep] win?" Lindsay shouted at him.

Lucille shushed her daughter, approaching George Michael. "Sweetie, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. And Ganki knows that what you saw wasn't pleasant. But your father clearly is not acting in your best interests, and hasn't been for a long time. You remember how we tried to help you, right?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"We need your help. You can help us, can't you?"

He looked his aunt in the eye. "I saw your Michael hug Maeby, and open-mouth kiss her. She kissed him back."

_The entire room knew Michael and Maeby had gotten close. But it was the first time they had heard details that would make the salacious sections of a Borgian scroll weep._

"What else has she told you?"

"She told me that day I tried to talk her out of working with him and stay, that they had been having sex."

"So you knew she was actually with him, when you tried to talk her out of working with him?" George Senior asked. "No, no, no, you needed a completely different strategy."

"You propositioned to your cousin?!" Lindsay almost fell off the edge of her desk.

_George Senior had not been listening closely to his daughter, and it showed._

"Not proposed, just reaffirmed the existing marriage." George Senior said it casually, like he was talking about different types of coffee blends.

"What marriage?"

"We were married for…eight years? And Maeby filed for divorce a few weeks ago. And got it." George Michael nodded. "It was an accident, we only found out when the certificate arrived."

"At least you didn't consummate it."

George Michael looked at the floor.

The room went quiet, then incredulous. "When?" Lucille demanded.

"That night I proposed."

"Well I never thought it would be Maeby would become the family bike." Lucille mused to herself.

Lindsay, meanwhile, was almost having a coronary. "This is great. Just great."

"All they have is that tape, Aunt Lindsay." George Michael commented. "Forgive me for being naïve, but as you pointed out, if the rest of the family looks bad, you do too. So really, you need to make this tape look wrong or unimportant. And I can't see how it can look unimportant."

"What, so mouth-to-mouth, Standing up? Or rehearsing a play?" She mocked.

"We don't know what angle it was shot at. All they have is what I say, what the other people in the room who were there say, and the tape."

"Are you sure, that's it?"

"Someone requested that footage. They knew something." George Senior insisted.

George Michael again looked sheepish.

"What is it?" Lindsay demanded.

"The journalist seem to know who we are, perhaps he heard me somewhere."

"I may have said aloud while pointing to a photo of dad that he was involved with someone who I had feelings for."

"what were the exact words, George Michael." Lucille insisted.

"I think that man is screwing the woman I love."

"Okay." Lindsay stood up, pushing her palms together. "We deny. We flood the airwaves with commercials. Call Michael and tell him we need money."

_Another four coffees, and Michael Bluth faced the inquisition._

Michael Bluth walked uncomfortably into the room, into the centre of the room, right in front of his sister. "We know what you're doing. We've put it all together. But we are willing to overlook it."

George Michael looked less convinced about that one.

"Because if I can get into Congress, I can do other things. If this armada sinks from the loose lips of a journalist and a grainy CCTV camera, all of us will be back on your pauper doorstep the day after."

"With what?"

"Oh, not with Barry." Lindsay shot. "No, with someone competent."

George Senior grunted with displeasure.

"You need to fix this. We need money."

"Well I have no money. It's all in houses."

"Then create it. I don't care how. Do it now."

"I'll do my best."

"Good. Now, can I have a word with Michael, please." She asked the room. Everyone filed out, leaving him in her audience. She removed her coat and hat, walking behind the desk.

"How are things? The campaign?"

She looked out the large window, arms folded. "How long have you been f[beep]ing with my daughter?"

He fell short of answering for a second, then said, "Lindsay…"

"I wasn't good enough for you? I wanted to marry you, Michael."

"I never planned it to happen. I'm sorry things had to come out this way."

_Michael was more sorry things had to come out at all, it was more at all. _

"You know, I could really have used you on this campaign." She walked around her desk, placing her hands on his chest. "A strapping, macho, likeable husband."

Michael didn't meet her gaze. "Sometimes things are not meant to be." He stepped back.

_And as Michael foreshadowed, the fast tracking of Bluthton was neither meant to be._

"So they'll be no five houses." Maeby buried her head in her arms on the desk.

"Not yet, but remember, Rome wasn't built in a day. One other thing, we need donations for your mom. 20 million in three days."

"Okay. Okay, okay, okay." Maeby psyched herself into this scenario.

"We won an award? Does that help?"

"Yes. Yes, I can work with this. Get me a mocha latte." She picked up the phone.

_But day went to night, and night went to day again, but Maeby was about to see some cents._

Maeby slumped over her desk, the mountain of local government documents overwhelming. She was awoken by a knock on the door.

"Delivery, for Maeby Funke?"

The man was holding a bunch of Tiger lilies. "On my desk. Thanks."

A grin spread over her face. She met him at the door, scribbling on the clipboard, making a b-line for Michael's office. Seeing it was just him, she shut the door behind her.

"What?" He stood up.

She ran up towards him, throwing her arms around him. "I hope you're getting them from Mom's old mall, you might be near a free one."

"What did I do?"

She crinkled her nose.

"Yeah. I know."

She kissed him passionately, him lifting her off the ground to his level, them nose to nose.

"It helped?"

"Well the snickers might have gotten them done in forty five…but flowers? They'll be done in an hour."

"Mm." he moaned, kissing her softly. "And yes, I am close to a free one. I won't tell you which one though."

"Too bad you can't get a punchcard system for me."

"What?"

"You know, getting a free one."

"Ahh, isn't everyone a free one?"

She shrugged.

A knock interrupted them.

They straightened up, before Michael shouted, "Come in."

"Call for Maeby? Guy from Washington?"

_Michael found his little check butt later, with a sense of hanging chad._

Leaning into her desk chair, Maeby tented her fingers, mulling. Michael walked in, shutting the door, and sat opposite her.

"What's on your mind?"

"Washington call earlier; they say they'll destroy the tape, if we give them ten."

Michael also tented his fingers. "And why didn't you tell me this three hours ago?"

"Because I think it's bulls[beep]. I'm tempted, Mom Is a pain in my butt and to see her fail at something so stupidly unachievable could be amusing. But on the other hand these guys are lying out of their own a[beep]. What's to stop them destroying the main and distributing the copy, or selling the story that we sold out?"

"What's there to consider, then?"

"No, everything's quite excellent." She tapped her fingers together. "I don't know, just daydreaming how Mom will fail I guess."

"You know, she's actually working pretty religiously on it…"

"Come on, please don't go all Michael on me."

"What's that meant to mean?"

"Saying nice things about her to keep the family ticking along."

"I do actually mean it, she has some good qualities."

"I guess." She looked at the clock. "Time to get up."

"No, wait." He placed her lillies on a filing cabinet, then lifted her onto her desk. He parted a space in the mess. Then, he pulled her dress over her head, dispatched of the rest on the floor, and lay her down in the sea of paperwork.

"I wanna see you orgasm in the middle of 20 million dollars."

She laughed, covering her mouth.

He positioned her legs over his shoulders. "No, seriously."

As his tongue kneaded and licked, she exhaled and shuddered, deep sounds coming from her throat, "my boss is going down on me on my own desk…"

Michael laughed, not stopping, watching her breasts jiggle from her breath.

The bliss kept reverberating through her, feeling his warm, wet tongue sending her shivers inside and out. As she closed her eyes, she could see his face. "Michael…Michael…" her voice continuing to climb octaves. Her breath quickened, madly sucking in oxygen to compensate the speed her heart was pounding. Her torso started shaking. Her banks then broke, and she let out an almighty cry, sinking into the paperwork around her.

He grinned, leaning over her, "you are unbelievably sexy when you shout my name in a sea of money." He kissed her.

She looked back at him in a haze, with love in her eyes.

_Michael's heart shifted to his mouth, pleading with her eyes to say what his head knew. But he would not get the verbal response he wanted._

"Do they know?"

"Yes."

"What did Mom say?"

He paused.

Back in her office, Lindsay had lifted his chin with her hand. "Clearly you've changed your mind on how you see family, why didn't you come to me first?"

"Well, Lindsay it all just happened, nothing was planned."

"It doesn't need to be, I still think it could all work out, especially with me in Congress and you head of an amassing company." She'd leaned in, her other hand grabbed around the area of his zip.

Back on her desk and sat up, Maeby's mouth fell open.

"She said some wonderful things."

She covered herself with her dress. "She came onto you! Why didn't you tell me this?"

"I blew her off. Besides, you took a while to tell me exactly what you did with George Michael."

Her mouth hadn't closed yet. "Okay, first he did my nipples, then he went down on me, then he f[beep]ed me. Then he proposed."

"You're right. I didn't need those details. But for your information, Lindsay grabbed my crotch and tried to kiss me."

_The flowers lost their balance on a binder, which came tumbling to the ground with them, 'Nuh-uh to Uh-huh: Sex and the workplace.' It was the cheapest course Michael could find on eBay, a steal at $19.99. The water immediately saturated the pages into a wet mess._

"Poured cold water on that idea." Maeby remarked.

"Yeah, there's something else we will probably have to pour cold water on too."

_Michael could have been referring to a lot of things, but just to be clear, no, not that._

"We're both gonna have to take a pay cut. Some of these people won't come through, the company will have to kick in."

_Maeby was slightly p[beep]ed. Her mother, which had stolen things her entire life, including a $50,000 check, was now stealing again from her perceived hard work. And had tried to steal her boyfriend._

"F[beep]. Well, I'm glad I'm month-to-month on my apartment then. Maybe I should go back to Sudden Valley."

_Or maybe not. The resident population consisted mostly of shut-ins who watch infomercials all day. All of the houses now appeared very lived in, which is fine as a developer if you never have to see your clients again, but a problem if you happen to be their neighbour._

"Maybe there's a third way out of this." Michael thought aloud. "Don't do anything too sudden."

Fully dressed, she picked up her handbag from the floor. "By the way, that doesn't count as a freebie."

_Back at his apartment and without the woman he gave a 50% pay cut to hours earlier, Michael opened his email on his tablet, finding an email from Lindsay. Inside, a link to the video her money would help to keep everyone off the scandal pages._

"Lindsay Bluth. Honest. Trustworthy. An American. Lindsay Bluth's family have worked long and hard to build a successful company. They have worked with the same blood, sweat and tears that made this country great. Others will try to tear down Lindsay Bluth, and their hard work. But do you want to build this country's future, or do you want to be one who tears down the American spirit? Vote 1 for Lindsay Bluth."

"I sure hope this works." He mumbled to himself, forwarding it to Maeby.

_Ten minutes and two star wars parody videos later, he got a response. _

'I think she's pitched it right. I sure hope this works. Xox'

_It was polling day eve, and Lindsay was having her final moments to pitch to her true believers, and all the voters who hadn't decided if they'd amble down to cast a vote._

Michael and Maeby watched it on the TV in Michael's office.

"My fellow Californians. My opponent isn't about the future. She isn't about jobs, or the economy, or creating the America of tomorrow. She's about the past, and not even her own past. She has tried to smear me relentlessly, jealous how the company of my family has soared to new heights in the face of her family's company's slump. Well, we aren't about that in America. We aren't about that in California! No! I need each and every one of you, loyal patriots, to vote, and to get everyone you know to vote, to keep hard work and the priorities of our nation on track! To keep honesty, integrity, and good governance in Washington! Vote one, for Bluth, tomorrow."

"You're gonna vote for her, right." Michael sent her a look.

"Do I have to?"

"She could be here, or she could be there." He pointed at the TV.

Maeby weighed the options. "Tough choice."

_On the next episode of Bluthton, Michael tries to replace his sexual harassment binders,_

Michael scrolls through page after page of listings on his work PC.

_But finds all inexpensive Californian courses have shut up shop, because Sitwell had made an election promise to police the standards._

Michael scrolls through a newsfeed about the sexual harassment courses being policed. "Sitwell, f[beep]!"l

_And Maeby goes to vote,_

"Hi, Maeby Bluth?"

The preppy elderly lady looked through the computer. "ID? Oh sorry, I can't find you here."

_Only to find she's not on the roll._

"That's right, I forgot to enrol."

_She sounds so disappointed._


	3. Light Knight

_It was a while later, almost four weeks, before the holes in the Bluthton lot continue to be filled with…homes, of a sort. Having made the significant contributions to Lindsay's campaign that they were one way or another obliged to provide, Michael and Maeby were working long hours trying to put together a plan B of sorts in order to keep the company building. _

Maeby walked into Michael's office just as Michael's phone sounded. Appearing uncomfortable, he placed it down on his desk.

"If we can employ just three less contractors, we can get another ten done in a month." Maeby pointed her pen.

"Where would they come from though? We don't want to lose any further good ones to Sitwell." He closed the door behind her. "I'm already worried we've cut back to the bone here, we don't want to dig our own graves."

"We need to keep revenue up, we're only just turning around from no houses, I don't want to see us divided from a crush."

"Nobody wants to see that. Why can't do more pre-sales? Sell off the plan? I know it was our competitive advantage..."

"Well, it meant we could have the shut-ins moving in immediately, kinda matches our strategy of selling to people who buy what's in front of them." She looked at the TV, seeing a pizza commercial. "I'm starving, how about pizza?"

_It was resolved that less houses with the same contractors would settle the possibility of any crushing debt hole. The same couldn't be said for the rest of the Bluth family._

He answered his phone. "Hi, Mom?"

"Michael, I can't get into the club."

"I wasn't aware that was my problem, you remember I don't pay you anymore?"

"Well the mother of the hot-shot CEO can't get in for lunch, how does that reflect on him?"

"Neither can the Ganki of the CFO, why did you call me? Is it because you thought I'd say yes?"

"Look Michael, I don't shove in your face when I was [beep] your uncle Oscar, I wasn't telling you the graphic details like how we [beep] [beep] [beeeeep] so I expect you to not shove details about you and my granddaughter in my face."

_This was only partly true._

Lucille had watched Oscar do his tai chi in the penthouse, shouting over the phone, "Oscar, close it! You look like the window of a butcher shop!"

Later, Oscar had stood with Michael outside the gas station, musing how to administer marijuana to Lucille, but Michael had meant for Oscar to administer Oscar.

"The question is, which way do I try to get it in her?"

"I don't need any details."

"Maybe, I'll put it in her brownie."

"Hey!"

Michael was nodding blankly, trying to stop the mental images. "Okay, I'll try."

"Good. And can you take Buster off my hands for a few hours? He keeps getting into your father's juice, except it's not juice, it's…."

"Mom, we are not day care, you'll have to find something to keep him occupied. Why don't you get him doing that archaeology group again, maybe inspecting holes will keep him distracted."

"Well, I will keep you abreast if he gets randy, I will not have him dragging in more common w[beep] like Lucille #2.

"She's dead, so I don't think you'll have a problem with that. Just make sure he gets in a good group, that likes to excavate dinosaurs. Not the ones that were only recently walking."

Lucille stood up from the penthouse sofa. "I'll try." And hung up.

Back in Michael's office, Maeby walked into his office, shutting the door and humming Knights in White Satin. "Pizza's here." She placed it down on the desk. "What did Ganki want?"

"How did you know it was Ganki?"

"You get the 'Ganki' look on your face." She leaned forward on the desk, her arms tenting outwards. "What did she want?"

Michael's eyes wandered to Maeby's u-neck dress that had slipped down, taking in a full view. "Something about how Buster is getting randy and how she's going to keep me…on top of things."

_Bluth men do share a number of similarities._

"Michael, my eyes are up here." Maeby signalled, repressing a cheeky grin. "How much did she want?"

"What's a membership to the Balboa club go for these days?"

"More than we need to dole out to her."

"Can we push it through as a deduction?" Michael wondered aloud.

"No." Maeby stated. "the donations Mom have already put a massive black hole in our deductions."

"I did tell her to call you directly, but she doesn't seem keen."

Maeby tried to grab a slice of pizza to bite, slipped, and stood up, with a tomato moustache and her hair a birds nest, which she then slicked back into a ponytail.

_Lucille had taken to calling Maeby 'worse than Saddam', but Michael wasn't about to jeopardise further family relations but sharing. Because he always believed, sharing was not always caring in this family._

"You've got a bit of…" he pointed to her lip.

She used her tongue to remove the sauce, not helping Michael, and he shuddered involuntarily.

"What's it gonna take for you to have the balls to finally take them on?" She tossed her head back, pulling out the tie from her hair, her growing locks tumbling, sitting on his desk, and ran her finger along the tendons of his hand. "Mr CEO?" she leaned forward, her dress unable to hold her in.

"Maeby…this is not helping." He gulped, looking everywhere else in the room.

Michael tried to flood his mind with the previously conjured images of his mother in various states of undress. But the soft stroking of the curvaceous woman on his desk was overriding it.

"Aren't you meant to be the mature one?" her fingers traced up his arms with feather touches.

"I'm still a man."

"You are indeed."

Micheal's intercom beeped. "Sir, the Nevada investors are forty minutes away."

"Thanks." He muttered through strained breath.

"Why don't you 'man-up' and stop handing out cheques?"

"It's not that simple…you know that…" he strained, then looked at her, begging written all over his face.

"You want me to fix that?"

"You're my girlfriend…please?"

"What happens if the investors show up early?"

"I'll…fix it. Come on, please?" He pleaded, clasping his hand together.

_And that made the second time in Maeby's life she was begged for sex. By a Bluth man._

"You stop handing out cheques, and I'll fix that."

_Maeby had just offered him one of his sexual fantasies, yet he would have to fight with his family. Michael was torn. Should he do what was best for his ungrateful family, or should he do what was best for himself?_

"Yes, okay, please." He mumbled through nashed teeth.

Maeby climbed under his desk, behind the desk's leg cover.

Michael was deeply engrossed when his eyes sprung wide open as the door flung against the wall, and in tromped three loud-footed men in cowboy boots.

"Hi!" Michael said brightly, unable to stand up. "How are you all?"

"Hello, you might be Michael, this is Toby, John and I'm Fred. Where's Miss Maeby, the one we've been speaking to?"

"She's full up with work at the moment…" He then winced in pain. "But she's our hardest working employee…no…executive, best we have." His face returned to a blissful smile.

"Aw great. Well I hope she can see us later."

"She wants to as well, and she will." He laughed. "Please, pull up some seats. Sorry, just a slight stiffness coming on, I just can't move."

Fred winked. "We totally get it Sir, all that hard work."

"Yeap."

"The way you're tracking, you'll be taking on the entire world."

"You know what they say, 'the world is not enough'. So, what did you want to see the company about?"

"I know we kicked in an additional twenty mil a few weeks ago, just wondering where that's going?"

"Maeby's our head person on that, but she's told me, we can definitely afford to build seven more houses within the month."

"Is that all?" Toby queried. "Last time we put in ten we had twenty going?"

_Some of that twenty was building Bluth houses, and some was building the house of Bluth- Lindsay Bluth._

"I think we've got some challenges going forward, but, revenue is steady, and that again, all credit to Maeby, she's just…fantastic." He gasped and gagged at the same time, "We think a downswing in supply could help push up prices. All the recent press the Bluth name has gotten has helped our market."

_Sort of. In the way that people went looking for their website, not so much in the way people bought anything._

Michael tried to hide his laboured breathing and maintain a straight face, the surreal sensation of physical pleasure while men who had millions of dollars around his neck waited expectantly for his explanations. "But I really can't keep stealing the thunder of the CFO, she's contributed so much to all of this, and I just can't feel satisfied without her being here with us. To explain her successful strategies. She is really, the heart and soul of moving this company forward, from ecstasy to being the top in the world." He breathed out deeply, feeling a huge release. "can you give me a moment to try to call her?"

"Certainly, sir." Fred winked, and left the room.

Maeby slid up from under the desk, and slapped him across the face.

"Ow…why?"

"Why didn't you stop when they got here?"

"I was saying nice things?"

"You sounded like an idiot."

His fingers walked up her arm, "Nobody does it better, Maeby you're the best?" he replied playfully.

_Maeby was used to having to sort out situations which male executives had dug themselves into all kinds of holes. Including, digging holes, to test how deep someone could dig earth before it all caved in._

Maeby had rallied the group of women around her holding the role, "Okay, pull!" She'd instructed the group, with a filthy Mark Cherry being pulled from the dirt.

"Gettaway, getaway…" He had mumbled hazily.

She grizzled. "Let me fix this…too." She pulled out a comb from her handbag, straightening herself. Opening the door to his office, she threw open her hands. "Gentlemen, how fantastic to see you all again!" She grinned.

"Why, we didn't see you there missie!" Fred remarked.

"No, I move in mysterious ways! Come, sit with me in my office."

"You look great-er there, Maeby." Toby remarked.

Except for a darker patch on the bottom of Maeby's dress, which was in fact an oily cheese stain. From when she showered herself in pizza.

"'cept the stain there?"

"You know what kinda dirty jokes they always run with stains on blue dresses back over the border." John grinned with a dirty look on his face, "Arkansas special." The three men chortled.

Michael laughed too, "Yeah, "I did not have sexual relations with that woman.""

Maeby's eyes shot harder than a machine gun in a mine, halting his laughing. "The maps happen to be in my office, a convenient coincidence. Follow me, Gentlemen." She signalled, ignoring her boyfriend.

Later, at her desk working madly, Maeby heard several thumps on her door. "Come." She shouted abruptly.

A delivery man staggered in with an extra-large bunches of tigerlillies.

"Leave them on the floor." She scrawled on his clipboard.

_Noticing his gift was tossed aside, Michael knew he wasn't in for an easy ride._

Michael peeked into her ajar office door, the delivery man long gone. He let himself in.

"Yes, Michael?"

"How did it go with the investors?" He shut the door.

"Great. They won't ask questions for a while. Paved over all the holes in our stories."

"Good."

She looked away from her computer. "Anything else?"

"I thought we should…talk?"

"About what?" She went back to her work.

"Why don't you tell me what's bothering you."

"Okay…I don't know why you're behaving like such a teenager, it's like I'm dating Perfecto again."

"I'm sorry." He paused, "Perhaps, it's because for the first time in a long time, I feel like I have energy, and drive, and I can do anything. I feel like a new man."

Maeby went mushy, "Yeah, but I wish you could express that in adult ways."

His phone beeped, and he gazed at it uncomfortably, then returned it to his pocket.

"What's up?"

"Nothing. I'll make it up to you. I promise." He winked, and darted off.

Over at the penthouse, Buster was being sent off for a day making holes in the ground.

"Do I really have to go? Can't I just go to the arcade again?"

"No. You've lost far too many limbs to them." Lucille folded her arms.

_Buster had a habit of losing his hands to trying to catch the loose seals- the seal toys, that usually were in the back of the machine, which Buster liked to set on fire. It was getting to a point where the family would have held an intervention, if there had been enough family to hold one. His sister was after all a Congresswoman now. Wasn't that mentioned earlier?_

Lindsay stood in front of a hall of banners reading 'Bluth', an enormous American flag behind her. "My fellow Californians, thank you for your trust in electing me…"

_It __was__ four weeks ago. So on balance it was easier just to push everything into a new activity. Buster worked from the corners of the site, straying not too far from them, as the group of student archaeologists created pits and potted around._

Buster held a flag straight, with palpable fidgeting about moving from his spot, staring at the distance.

"Buster, Buster can you come and hold this straight!" a woman in a safari hat shouted from a pit not far from him.

He anxiously approached the group, gripping the leaver. Peering in, he could see a large shield.

"What do you think it is?" The Eurasian asked the woman.

"I think it could be relics from the lost tribe of Cuatro. It looks like it could form part of one of their ceremonies." She looked up. "We're gonna have to shut this site down."

The National Park ranger who had been standing on the sidelines picked up her megaphone. "Attention workers, you are violating Federal Law around cultural sites, cease construction immediately."

Buster looked into the distance at the building site. "Hey, they all look like the model home."

_The Bluth executives had not gotten the memo before close of business that their business had been closed down for the day, and had gone home_.

Michael walked into his apartment with Maeby behind him, looking at his phone. "Take out?" he asked casually, then he groaned.

She circled around to face him. "What?"

"Nothing. Take out?"

"Sure."

He glanced at the clock. "You relax, I'll be right back." And absent minded dropped his phone on the bench.

Maeby stared at his phone, pondering, wondering, if she should pry. She grabbed it quickly. Rattling in her brain, _#1 Crush_ by _Garbage_ kept playing on loop. She didn't know why. She went through the messages. Then she knew why. She went through her Mother's thread.

'Michael, I need you…I will lie for you. We can be the gods of Orange County. Be with me xox'

'Michael, please return my calls'

'Why won't you return my calls? I burn for you. Soothe me, Michael'

'Michael, I see your face every place that I walk in, I hear your voice every time I am talking...come see me tonight. Xox'

But she gasped and almost dropped the phone at the next one, 'Michael, I would die for you, I've been dying just to feel you by my side…I need to know that you're mine. Xox'

Michael returned to find Maeby with her mouth hanging open, his phone in her hand.

"Are you having an affair with her?"

"No." He replied suddenly. "I have not responded to any of her texts. Check my call logs, I have not called her in months."

"Have you ever had sex with her?"

He paused.

"Tell me!"

"That day of the meeting when she came onto me, I tripped backwards and either blacked or was concussed. I don't remember a lot of it,"

Michael had lifted his heavy head, feeling aroused but very hazy. He looked down to see his sister leaning over him. "What are…you…doing…stop!…"

"I knew you'd enjoy that." She'd smiled.

"Get…off…me…hospital…" He'd mumbled.

"You don't even know what she did to you?"

"I didn't want to know. Believe me. Please?"

"Why should I believe you? Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"Because I knew how angry you'd be, I didn't want you worrying, I said no, and Lindsay has a habit of obsessing over things then moving on."

"I will not let my mother ruin my life again." She shouted. "I'm releasing this all to the media." She stormed towards the door. "I will destroy her!"

"No, no you can't." He grabbed her arms.

"I'm going to see her. Now." She resisted him, until he let go.

"Maeby!..." He shouted, but she had already left.

_Maeby realised if she showed up to a Congresswoman's office in a rage she would have trouble getting through security. So she soothed her temper by reading a pamphlet she grabbed at the government reception desk on the way through._

Maeby bashed the up button on the elevator, and bashing the two button inside.

"Not a good day?" A genteel man in a brown hat asked.

"Did you know, from the widest gully, to the deepest trench, holes define who we are, and where we are going?" Maeby read loudly, laced with sarcasm. "And did you know the holes only natural enemy is the pile?"

_The man she shared an elevator with realised they were moving slowly between floors, yet he still tried to take a step as far away from Maeby as he could._

"Doesn't our government and our taxes do a fantastic job? I really needed to know this stuff."

The elevator dinged, with Maeby colliding through a staffer who was standing in the outside door jam.

"Excuse me, you can't just barge in." The receptionist growled.

"I'm her daughter and CFO to a multi-billion dollar housing developer. I go in now." She pulled open the door to the room marked her office.

The staffers flopped back in shock.

Maeby shut the door behind her, finding the huge office empty. Lined with wooden bookshelves, it was a majestic version of the typical American government building.

"Just a minute, need to get my eyes on." Lindsay shouted from a bathroom.

"No, now."

Lindsay walked out of the room, with one eye undefined. "Hi, Maeby, what brings you here to see your old Mom." She said brightly.

"You know exactly why I'm here."'

"Do I?"

"What the hell did you do to my boyfriend and why won't you leave him alone?"

"Oh, so he did tell you about him and I."

"There is no 'him and I', he's been ignoring you." Maeby's voice became louder and louder.

"That's not how he reacted that afternoon."

"How did he react?"

"He was moaning a lot. Then, he said something like 'stop', but I knew he didn't mean it, and…"

"You, touched him?" Maeby pulled binders from the shelves behind her and started hurling them at Lindsay, "You b[beep] f[beep] f[beep]…"

Lindsay ran and ducked behind her desk. Papers, a computer screen, and a lamp went flying from being hit by the missiles, soaring to the floor and crashing.

_Lindsay had her first opportunity to test her security system, and was testing it on one of her own family members._

After a dozen binders had been launched, security burst into the room, pinning Maeby's arms behind her back. "Wait." She became serine. "The rest of the family may be scared of you, Congresswoman, but I'm not. If you send just one more message, I will post all of them everywhere. Do you understand?"

Lindsay narrowed her eyes, and said nothing, but gestured her head to get Maeby removed.

_Michael had never seen Maeby's apartment. It was kind of fortunate, because the building was quite run down and its security features left a lot to be desired._

A siren continued to go off in the stairwell, as Michael dialled Maeby for the fifteenth time. He leaned against the front door to the building, when he heard footsteps coming towards him.

"Why are you here?" She asked.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you…"

"That she assaulted you? I don't get it, why would you hide that from me?!"

He closed his eyes.

"Is the family more important to you than me? Are you still trying to protect them?"

"No." He responded firmly. "But if they go down in scandal, then the Bluth Company goes with them."

"That still doesn't explain why you didn't tell me! I'm wondering how I'm supposed to trust you. My entire life I've been around people that lie to me, how can I know you aren't one of them?"

_Michael was confused. He'd done what was best for the Bluth Company. He had tried to stop Maeby from finding out the truth about her mother, which he thought was the best thing. If she didn't know, it couldn't hurt her. But what really bound the Bluth company? Loyalty? Money? Or had it been all these years a scheme to run a family. A scheme to keep them all together._

"You're right, I can't believe I fell for it. This is dad's company, I've been martyring myself for years over it." He threw his arms around her and buried his head in her shoulder, and sobbed.

"Michael, he's trying to control you, like he's always tried to control all of us." She patted his head. "Well, he never really tried with me, but you and your siblings. Lindsay has thrown her liberal ideals under a bus. GOB is away from his magic, I mean, illusions, whatever."

_He looked at her through sad eyes, and kissed her. But she didn't kiss back._

"Come upstairs." She led him through the block door.

She was seated on the couch, gazing listlessly at the TV, her hand patting and stroking his hair as his head rested on her lap. His bleary eyes staring into space. He turned his head, looking up at her. "Maeby, you're all I've got. I can't lose you. What is it that will make you trust me again?"

Maeby pondered for a while. "I want some honest answers to questions. The answer. The complete answer."

"Okay."

"When were you first attracted to me?"

Michael stopped breathing, freezing up. "You were sixteen. You were in your bedroom, drying your hair with a hair dryer, and completely naked. And you'd left the door open."

Maeby's face lit up, then became incredulous, then back to lit up. "You bad boy. You just kept walking?"

"Yeap." He mumbled.

"You saw everything?"

"Yeah, I did."

She cracked up.

Michael smiled as much as he could through the embarrassment.

"Did George Michael talk about his feelings for me with you?"

"He did, several times."

"What did you say to him?"

"I said you were family. And that when we knew you weren't a blood relative, that you were both still 16. It wasn't a good idea."

"Did you being attracted to me colour that?"

"I tried as hard as I could not to think about it, because I believed at that stage the family should be kept together at all costs. And nothing would ever come of me being attracted to you. He was closer to your age, you two seemed to have more in common I guess. I mean, if anything were to happen."

"You never thought I'd be into you?" She looked deeply into his blue eyes.

"Of course not, I was over twice your age, and I always played by the rules, you always seemed to be pushing the boundaries."

She stroked his face, resting her fingers on his lips. "Don't opposites attract?"

He took her wrist, kissing her hand. "Sometimes. I have tried really hard in all of this not to push you into anything, because at the end of the day, you're my niece too. "

"When you look at me, do you see a niece, or a lover?"

He squinted at her for a while. "My lover, and my best friend. The most talented woman I know. Smart, beautiful, incredibly capable. I want this to last forever. No maybe's."

_Maeby had just maybe forgiven Michael, for a whole bunch of stuff. Including some of that stuff he'd just admitted to._

A warm smile spread across her face, "I love you Michael Bluth." And she kissed him on the forehead, continuing to watch the TV.

Michael stared at her, comprehending the significance of her finally saying the words. Finding words eventually, he replied, "I love you too."

She stood up, lifting his head and placing it on the sofa, and walked towards the kitchen. Michael followed her, finding a 90s wood panel kitchen.

"Coffee?" she offered.

"Yeah, sure."

"This place may be run down, but at least it's my own." She said, setting up the machine.

"You never felt at home in the model home?"

"There was never my own space. It was always me fitting in around everyone else. I used to go to work to get away from the people in the house."

Michael's face fell, "I didn't realise how you felt."

"Why would you, you weren't my parent and my parents couldn't care less about me." She looked at the linoleum on the ground. "still don't."

"Do you have any idea where your dad is?"

"I don't really care. He could find me if he wanted. I'm here with my own life." She handed Michael a coffee.

_Past the orgasm haze part of a relationship, Michael was seeing a side of Maeby he'd never seen before. The sweatpants and relaxing on the couch eating Doritos side. He was hearing more depth from her than he ever had, and was deeply fascinated._

"What do you have now that you never had before?"

"I like making choices from time to time. What goes on the wall, what TV show. No, actually, it's more about that I'm not living with people that couldn't give a crap. Self absorbed. I can't stand people like that."

"It gets really draining after a while." Michael mused. "Pleasing those type of people."

"I don't understand why you martyred yourself out for them all the time, seemed like a waste of time to me." She mumbled.

"I was a parent. I was also doing it to give George Michael the family I thought I couldn't give him on my own."

"You shouldn't have wasted your time on those freaks. You could have done so much more with your life."

"But I never would have gotten to know you." He beamed at her.

"Small consolation." She shrugged.

"No, no, no, no." He hugged her. "not small."

She released. "We should get to bed. Are you staying the night?"

"If I'm allowed."

"Sure." She walked him to her room, a small, windowless room with a double bed. "This is the main disadvantage with the apartment, no window in the bedroom."

"Just a small one."

_Michael having built homes for many years knew ventilation in the bedroom was important for health. So he wasn't surprised this cheap apartment had little to none._

He slipped into bed in his boxers, as she returned in a crop top and shorts, humming _Knights in White Satin_. She climbed in beside him, leaning over and kissing him. "Night."

"Night." He responded. "Wait, when were you first attracted to me?"

She turned over, "I don't need to tell you that, that wasn't part of the deal."

"You don't need to, but…I'm dying to know."

She smiled impishly, "I think it was the day you and GOB were wrestling on the side of the pool, I can't remember what over, and he won and pushed you into the pool. Your phone floated to the top and that's the first thing you thought about. But your entire suit was soaked through, and I could see your abs through your shirt, which you then took off." She bit her lip, ensconced in the memory.

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen. But you were unkie Mike, I just thought you looked hot."

He smiled, running his fingers up her arm.

"Yeah, this attraction thing has been going on for a while."

"But, you were a teenager. It would never have happened back then. Besides the fact it would have been illegal."

_Michael didn't need to instruct Maeby in having sex with minor. Maeby already had a citation for that._

"And even now you think I'm a duster."

She snorted. "I do not think you're a duster." She threw the cover off, tracing around his abs. "Or, you're a sexy duster."

He slid towards her, delicately sliding off her tank top straps, and pulling it down. "What is it exactly that…is nice with these?"

"You mean what George Michael does."

"Well, I was trying not to bring him into bed with us."

_That would be an interesting episode._

She lay down on her back. "I dunno, I think he uses his teeth a bit."

He started to gently run the flesh through his teeth, his other hand tweaking.

_Skillful tweaking was a Bluth trait, as George Senior was also quite skilful with his hands._

Lucille rolled her eyes, "Your father and his incessant tweaking. That's why I wasn't able to breast feed any of you."

Maeby murmured. "More?...less…that feels good." She moaned. He alternated, feeling her responding more as he increased the intensity.

She gasped from his touches, arching her back from the pleasure, starting to feel the waves wash through her. She moaned deeply, shuddering from the sensation and the high.

He slid up to his face, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"That wasn't a freebie."

"No, it was for the woman who loves me." He ran his hand through her hair.

She kissed him, softly.

"But let's up that tally…total…count…" he slid under the covers.

She gasped and sighed, "Michael!"

_But the happy couple were in for a non-free shock. Bob Loblaw had contacted them to organise a meeting, about a hole the company were about to fall in._

"Your housing development sits on land once occupied by the Cuatro Tribe, an incredibly rare group that lasted three generations in what you now call, Bluth Valley. I am informed they had made their way up from down south, looking for land which to build a settlement, and thought this big chasm in the mountains would be suitable. But they were stifled by their leaders' obsession with fire pits which lead to most of the tribe having scarring on their arms, that most of the tribe wouldn't work, and that most of the males were more interested in each other than reproduction. There were two exceptions, who eventually had to abandon the camp, but their chronicles are well recorded on artefacts found on your site. They founded a festival trying to motivate the rest of the tribe to work, calling it Cinco de Cuatro. It produced the construction of a number of artefacts, most by the male members of the tribe, including tablets chronicling in crude drawings the entire…saga, with red dust and encrusted in gems, their version of glitter."

Michael and Maeby looked at each other.

"But they all perished when the two hard working members abandoned them, which were both to an extent forced out, as they were related. Even though back then, being related wasn't a problem. Per se."

"They sound like a really functional bunch of people." Maeby remarked.

"And what exactly does this all mean for the site?" Michael tapped his pen.

"You cannot do a thing on it until the site is cleared by all relevant Federal Bodies as having been evaluated and certified as not a culturally significant place."

"What if it is one?"

"Then you cannot build there at all, and all the existing houses must be removed."

"Do we get compensation if that happens?"

"My understanding is there was a visible relic on the edge of the site when you started construction, and that legally would have meant you'd have to have phoned it in for an inspection. Given you didn't, you have forfeited any rights for compensation you previously would have had."

"Wait, I walked through the site myself, and I did not see anything that would have suggested there was a tribe there."

_He hadn't. Because the relic had been in a hole at the time, face down, and appeared to be a rock. _

"So a lump of stone?"

"It was visible. The law doesn't distinguish between whether the culturally significant part of the artefact was visible if it forms only part of the artefact. They said it was in their 'Holes' pamphlet but they'd 'take any comments into consideration when pursuing alterations into the future'."

Michael threw up his hands in exasperation. "How can they hold us responsible for a rock that the relic could not be seen on?"

"Justice is blind, Mr Bluth. And as your lawyer, I'm telling you, so are both of you." He pointed.

_A house divided itself cannot stand, or at least that's what Abraham Lincoln thought. George Senior heeded his words when he built houses, as he barely used dividing walls, preferring partitions. However, this was not just a sinking house sans plumbing at stake, as George Senior was about to fall into a fast growing cavernous divide_.

Lindsay sat at the white table in the white room, fiddling with her iPhone, as George Senior folded and unfolded his hands. Michael and Maeby walked through the door.

Maeby responded with revolution about being in the same room as her mother.

Michael sighed. "Dad, why did you bring us here?"

"Meeting. Meeting, Michael. Need to ensure the company and your sister's interests are bridging the same gaps." He added, "and vice versa."

"I don't want to poke holes, but Lindsay has been antagonising the both of us." Michael stated bluntly.

"You're brother and sister, y'know, sibling acting out with each other normal." George shrugged.

Michael mouthed to Maeby, "Sweetie, I can probably do this without you, if you don't want to stick around."

"No, no, I'm not going anywhere." She threaded her arm through his, then sending a look toward Lindsay as she took a seat.

"I'd heard only Michael was coming to this meeting." Lindsay queried.

"I'd heard only you were coming, dad." Michael asked.

"I'd not heard anything." Maeby commented. "And I'm the one who was hurling the binders."

"Politics is about compromises, sweetie." George Senior laboured, "Sometimes we don't always get our way with policies, and we have to act differently."

"I've never seen actors who strip other actors and touch them while they're blacked out. Maybe I worked for the wrong film studio."

_She did. That sort of movie is more in the fringe industries, with such classics as Drunk Party 1: S[beep] in the heat, and Drunk Party 5: Hot at the Hatelove._

George Senior didn't react, rather responding, "Lindsay, I know you're struggling without Tobias."

"I'm really not." Lindsay replied, without blinking.

"But your brother is not the most right…space, when you're a Congresswoman."

Maeby slid Michael's phone to George Senior. He squinted and flicked the screen with his finger "If this gets out, you will have to resign."

Maeby raised a brow at Lindsay, who scowled back.

He put the phone down. "That land around the border, there's a lot of craters to be filled?"

_And so continued a boring meeting about building a wall to keep relatives of the laborers the company used out of the country. A meeting that got a lot more interesting when Lindsay had to leave from an unscheduled press conference, and Maeby knew her Grandfather wasn't going to hit or on her boyfriend._

"And the laborers will need that third permit from the city."

"With your sister involved in this, of course. We can't be using casual labor from a hardware store."

"Is she gonna play ball on this one?"

"I don't think she has much of an option."

"They're just text messages, Dad. Someone could have hacked into her phone?"

"I don't think she's got a leg to stand on, certainly you weren't..."

"Wait, you knew Lindsay had done things to me!"

"Well I was walking past."

"And you saw Lindsay there and me in a compromising position?"

"Well, you weren't moving much."

"And you just kept walking?"

"Yep."

"You saw everything?"

"Yeah, I did."

"You didn't think to bring this up with me…?"

"We're Bluths, Son." He patted Michael on the shoulder. "We're not fighters."

_George Michael inherited his defiant streak from his mothers' side. Just letting you know._

George Michael had thrown a fist into Michael's face in the garden outside Rebel's apartment.

"I mean, look at your uncle Oscar. He wouldn't even defend his country!"

"Buster did."

_Buster had sat in a shopping mall, playing what he thought was a video game. Instead, he had taken out the most civilians of any drone pilot, a record he still holds._

Buster had pulled at the joystick on the drone screen, cheering as the green and black figures changed, another hit.

"What do you think I could have done?"

"Stop her? That would have been my first response."

_As Michael had done previously._

Michael had gawped into Maeby's shared bedroom at the model home, then scooted away down the hall silently.

"It's not simple, you know, you kids and your games, I mean I don't know what the hip-in thing is. You are dating your niece after all."

_Dealing with his fathers' lack of consideration, Michael returned to the office to deal with another tribes lack thereof._

Seated in front of Maeby's desk, Michael peered at the pamphlet. "They delivered the pamphlets to you? How considerate of them."

"Luckily Bob Loblaw talked some out of them, I couldn't get them myself."

_Maeby was banned from the building, having tried to assault an occupant with paper-based projectiles._

Maeby had hurled the binder towards Lindsay's desk, just as the security guards had rushed into the room and pinned her arms around her back. She had thrashed around, shouting.

"Holes,"

_One which she was well acquainted with._

"and the Cuatro peoples."

"The information isn't online?"

"Bob said their timeline for that was "within the next eight quarters, subject to regulatory and bureaucratic timeframes." But you know, just trying find a way to get the fantastic Cuatro to stop take their performance art off our land."

"So they actually wore capes and thought they were superheros, huh?"

"Apparently it was ceremonial." She peered at the pamphlet. "A lot of the stuff they've dug up is art from one ceremony, these nomads were on neighbouring land too but tended to just up and leave their messes where it suited them."

Lucille strode into the room, tossing her feather coat and brown paper bag on the filing cabinet.

"Michael, I still can't get into the Balboa club. They say my membership hasn't been paid yet."

Maeby glanced at Michael.

"Mom, we're kinda in the middle of something here."

"I was too – lunch. And they said I couldn't stay! Imagine that, the mother of a high flying CEO unable to eat."

"Given that it would have consisted of several rounds of cocktails, I'm not sure eat is the correct phrase. We're just in the middle of something, you'll have to wait until I have time. Which won't be til next week."

Lucille glared at him, then Maeby. "Fine. But you're digging yourself in a hole, I won't hold back in telling investors I'm the mother of the CEO, unable to get her drinks from the most upmarket restaurant in town."

"I'm sure they'll be shaken by that, perhaps not stirred."

She left with her brown paper bag and feathers.

"Are you going to deal with that?" Maeby eyeballed him.

"Yes, next week."

"Good." She leaned her head on her hand, sighing loudly.

"Why don't you go home early, get some rest?" He suggested. "Rome wasn't built in a day, we can afford to take the rest of the day off, especially because we've had a long week. It can wait til Monday?"

"I guess so." She mumbled. "Should I come over to your place?"

"I'm having my condo bug bombed. You look like you need a quiet one, why don't we catch up Saturday?"

"Okay. Sure." Maeby raised her brow.

_Back in her apartment, Maeby caught up on her old life, and everything she'd been missing._

Maeby flicked her iPad. "Ocean Walker 3, huh?" She glanced up, hearing the door buzz, and went over, talking to the intercom.

"Hello?"

"Hey Maeby, thought I'd drop by. Are you busy?"

"No, just watching re-runs. Come up."

Maeby opened the door, finding Michael in a white tuxedo two boxes with bows in one arm, the other with red roses.

"What's this?"

"We've got a plane to catch." He handed her the boxes.

Inside, she found a long black sparkly gown, and a smaller box some black sparkly shoes with a kitten heel. "How long do I have?"

"We have to leave here in half an hour. You'll be staying the weekend."

"Where are we going?"

Michael beamed. "It's a surprise."

She looked at the dress. "How am I going to get my hair ready in half an hour?"

He laid the flowers on a side table and took her face in his hands. "You'll look beautiful no matter what you do."

"That's what men always say." She dashed towards the bathroom.

"With good intentions." He shouted back.

But Maeby managed to get her face on and hair up, and soon Michael had her out the front door.

Maeby walked down the stairs in the long gown, dark eyeliner and thick lashes, and her hair up with a few select curls framing her face. A white limo sat waiting, and Michael opened the door, gesturing for her to enter.

She clambered in, and when he'd climbed in, she threaded her arm through his and clasped his hand.

"You look stunning." He kissed her on the cheek.

"Thank you." She grinned. "You look very handsome. Why are you wearing white?"

"You'll find out."

_The limo wound the couple through the back streets of Orange County, eventually stopping at the promised airport. But instead of stopping at the passenger terminal, it continued._

Michael climbed out and opened the door for Maeby onto the tarmac, a small distance from jet.

_Maeby saw what she hadn't seen in quite some time- a stair car. But not the old one that plagued the Bluth Company in its days chased by government of all persuasions, one actually connected to a plane._

"A private jet?"

"I thought we could walk, but a jet would be more fun." He winked.

"and you're not telling me where you're taking me?"

"Nope."

_Maeby and Michael ascended a stair car, for the first time in years, not evicting or being a hop-on._

Maeby looked back over the tarmac, her eyes falling on the commercial jet, and then entered the cabin.

"Anything to drink?" the Stewart asked.

"White wine?" Maeby asked.

"Scotch on the rocks." Michael requested.

Seating herself in the light brown leather seat, she turned "You're not telling me where we're going?"

"No." he took her hand and kissed it.

The plane raced down the runway, Michael squeezing Maeby's hand as they took flight. "But you're going to like it."

She responded with scepticism in her eyes.

The plane chased the creeping night on the east coast, landing on a tarmac in total darkness. More doors were opened and more seats were sat on, until a familiar skyline loomed in the distance.

Maeby looked gazed out the limo window. "The big apple?"

He ran his hand along her thigh. "I'm not saying."

_As the limo passed a place for people with no homes, _

They passed a homeless shelter.

_a place of people with multiple homes, _

The car passed brutal financial company buildings.

_and homes that perched high in the air, _

Maeby looked up to see condos soaring high into the air.

_it finally arrived at the destination. _

The limo stopped outside an older off-Broadway theatre.

"This is lovely." She remarked, walking towards the main floor entrance.

"Ah-uh." Michael directed with his hand. "This way." He lead her up the stairs, and up another flight of stairs. Pushing apart curtains, he gestured for her to take a seat in their private booth.

"Michael, this has to be the nicest seat in the house." She grinned, and kissed him.

He handed her a program. "I hope you enjoy it."

She read the cover, 'Love Indubitily – the Musical'. "They didn't."

"They've kinda overhauled it a bit. It's rumoured to be nominated for a Tony."

As the curtain opened, an untraditionally beautiful woman sat in a green field.

"Oh, the original script leaked."

_The head writer had sold the entire plot to a Broadway producer. But when Tantamout discovered the similarities in the script they owned, and the critically acclaimed musical, they demanded the name be changed. To the original, so they could move more of the DVDs of the butchered screen version._

"Wardrobe are complaining again." The runner had reported to Maeby.

"Just tell them those boxes of DVDs will only be there for a little while longer."

_Those DVDs have not moved from wardrobe._

_The musical was a very straightforward production of the script Maeby had never had the opportunity to produce, as the bad decisions had been made before it came to her fixing desk. Too soon it was drawing to a close._

A series of men in white suits emerged from the fog, _Knights in White Satin_ playing.

"Oh, that is such a beautiful song." She squeezed his hand, harder the more excited she got from the number.

The strapping young man emerged in a white knight suit, singing soulfully. The heroine from the opening number rose from the floor on a rock, the knight serenading her as the chorus line crooned.

As the curtain fell, she turned to him. "You're my knight in white satin, aren't you?"

He murmured and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in tight.

"We have a hotel room."

"Sounds like the place to be."

They walked into the dark hotel room, Maeby walking over to the window, Upper Manhattan a rolling expanse of twinkling lights carpeting across the skyline.

"Michael, this is the most beautiful view I've ever seen." She gasped.

He joined her, running his arms around her. "This is the most beautiful view I've ever seen."

"I love you, Michael."

"I love you too."

"Why all of this?"

"Lots of things, but, the company promised you'd get rewarded for all your work…well, I promised, and you've wound up in your windowless bedroom apartment making phone calls begging investors for money we then syphoned off in a scheme you'd just dismantled."

"And be my handsome knight in white satin?" She kissed him gently.

"But there's something I think I can save you from."

She stared intently into his blue eyes, trying to decipher what direction this could be going.

"I was going to suggest that you move in with me."

Maeby pursed her lips and exhaled.

"I just want you think about it."

"You really want me around twenty four seven?"

"Of course. I lived with you for three years. You were the least difficult Bluth, well, bar George Michael. But he…anyway. I know you want your own space, I don't want to push you into anything, but I think it's the next logical step. For us. Because I love you."

Maeby gazed at her knight in white satin, her heart in her mouth. The intensity of his blue eyed gaze melted the thoughts in her head, as she heard the chorus strains of _Knights in White Satin_.

_On the next episode of Bluthton, the Cuatro tribe get on the local news._

John Beard grinned. "And in other news, a trove of treasure was discovered of a local tribe by a local family. The Bluth family, known for their drunkenness and disorder, have discovered a tribe which wiped itself in similar decadence. More after this."


	4. The Pied Island

Michael stroked her cheek. "You don't have to answer now. We're booked here two nights."

"I know." She unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, stripping it off his shoulders. She then removed his shirt, leaning up to kiss him, her tongue finding the contours of his mouth. Her hands felt around the rippled muscles of his front and side, creeping up his sides and pulling his head towards her. She guided him around and he lay back, her easing off his pants off while he reclined. She slipped her dress off her shoulders, it dropping to the ground, shedding the rest in the same pile.

Michael watched his svelte young partner with the moonlight throwing light across her body, fingers grazing her thighs as she climbed on top of him, her curls bouncing on her shoulders as she removed the clip. "We've never done it in the dark before."

"Is that better or worse?"

"I always love seeing you when we make love."

She leaned over to the side table, turning on the lamp. As she returned to straddle him, he reached in to rub between her thighs, causing her to moan.

"Especially when you look like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you enjoy me pleasuring you. It's very sexy."

"You're not getting bored?"

"Why would I ever get tired of you?" his fingers traced the pink tips.

She sat back, sliding on top of him. "We've been going for a while."

He felt the rushes from her light frame riding him, "This has never felt better."

_With the whole of New York spreading into the distance, the lovers felt on top of the world._

As she exhaled and leaned down over him, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled her onto her side, kissing her delicately.

"I just thought maybe…you'd want to try something different. By now."

"You want to?"

"I'm open to new things. I don't mind."

Michael murmured to himself, then stood up and lifted her from the bed, carrying her in the dark. He flicked the switch with his elbow, finding themselves in an enormous bathroom with a spa, and lay her inside on the edge. He set the tub filling, poured in some liquid from the bench, and returned to the room with a bottle and two glasses. He handed her a half full one and slipped into the spa beside her, pulling her onto his lap.

As the tub filled around them, he took the puff from the side and generously squeezed the ooze into it, and started lathering around her torso.

"Nice?"

"Yeah." She responded half-heartedly. She felt him run a hand between her thighs and start stroking. "Yeah, this is a bath I could get used to."

He smiled mischievously, and felt behind him, before his hand diving back under the filling water.

She gasped and arched her back, grabbing onto him.

"More?"

"Yes…Yes!"

He brought her chin towards his with his free hand, kissing her deeply, his desire rising by the second, as she clung to him. He let go of her chin, and slipped down to go inside for the special spot.

Maeby withered in his arms, her body shaking like a leaf from his touches, panting moans into his mouth. "Michael!" She gasped over and over between breaths.

"You're so beautiful." Michael kissed her neck and chin.

Maeby shuddered twice, flailing in his arms as he held her against him.

"I went twice, how did you do that?"

Michael laughed and smiled, turning off the water and setting the bubbles. "I think you might be underestimating me."

_She wasn't. Michael was good at many things, including calculating probability. And having calculated the high probability he would need to be able to offer something different to Maeby, he had just been madly trying bone up, something else he was good at. _

His lips and tongue met hers hungrily as he went inside her, his hands tweaking and pulling, his mouth catching her groans, his arms catching her contortions as she bounced on top of him. She broke off and he lay his head back on the edge of the spa, watching her smooth back from the bottom of his vision.

Maeby breathed deeply from his touches and the pleasure from her gyrations, enjoying his strong arms wrapped around her.

He closed his eyes and focused solely on making the moment, and the feelings surging through his body, last forever.

She exhaled, "It's feeling different…this time."

"I think because I feel so good." He staggered. "Oh, Maeby…"

As he reached his end point, he guided her shoulders back onto him. "Are you there?"

"Almost…"

He reached down and rubbed until she let out an almighty cry, simultaneously as he flopped backward himself in bliss.

She shuffled next to him, pushed to start the bubbles, and leaned in. "We have some amazing sex."

"I'm glad I'm giving you a good time."

"It's not all you."

Michael grinned cheekily, then added, "I love making love to you."

"Why do you think we're 'making love'?"

"Because I love you, and every time we do it I feel it through every ounce of my body."

"Sex is love for you?"

"In the past with some women, maybe not. But with us, of course, isn't that what it means to you?"

Maeby took a swig of her drink. "And that thing under the desk?"

_Maeby knew she had him there. _

"You have no idea how good that felt."

"Muh-huh." She raised a brow, and moved to the opposite side of the spa.

"Okay, would you have done it if you didn't love me?"

_Michael knew he had her there._

"I wouldn't go there, but also, what about you spending tens of thousands of company dollars bringing me here?"

_Maeby knew he had him there._

"What about you getting arrested in a government building for launching paper-based projectiles?"

_And so on._

"What about risking getting punched, in the face, for continuing to date me?"

He grinned. "To be with you, and I confess, I did it because I love you. Now, what are you going to do?"

Maeby shrugged again. "I see."

He dashed over to her corner of the tub, and Maeby evaded him by slipping around, which he then countered. She went under his arms and around, narrowly missing his scooping arms. But his footwork outdid her, and he bear hugged her from behind and fell forward, as they both sunk into the bubbling waters.

_As the bubbles burst as the sun did over the horizon, the lovers set off beyond their bubble to see the city. At a time that had suited them._

Micahel and Maeby walked into the main hall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, only to find the enormous queue snake before them.

"Oh, it's the rare civilisations exhibition."

"Well, I guess someone's gotta care about holes." Maeby mumbled.

"Perhaps we should wait and see? Can't hurt?"

_But two hours and four families later, it did._

Maeby engaged stretching manoeuvres. "Is there another one on the list?"

"The Museum of Modern Art is not too far from here."

_Which is where they went. And found the queue less daunting._

"I'm starving. Did we eat before?"

"We were doing other things." Michael beamed. "I think the food is on the top floor."

"I hope something is." Maeby gazed with slight contempt over walls of photos of various naked torsos.

As they traversed the landing, Maeby stopped dead.

"Oh my gosh, it's the soup cans! Look, Pea and Ham! And Cream of Mushroom! You know how many actors had copies of these things…"

Michael smiled, wrapping his arms around her, inhaling her scent.

_As Michael gazed at one of Andy Warhol's most famous creative expeditions, he clutched tightly in his arms his proudest life expedition. Admired from afar for many years like the soup cans that adorned the wall, who had let him take her many hours from home, cupping his arms around her waist, yielding to his soft kisses on her neck, and how he created a sense of wonderment in a woman whose default response was sarcasm. And the wiley woman of many smarts who had tried so hard to avoid dependence on the decedent disparates of her life was enjoying, perhaps too much in the back of her mind, being nuzzled and caressed by this man of greater life experience than herself, who gave her a sense of security._

Her smiling eyes met his over her shoulder.

_Which, if it was an illusion, as she kept telling herself, kept getting buried behind his blue puppy dog eyes._

Barely a breath from his, she waited, entranced in his gaze.

His eyes vacated to the neighbouring space, and he stepped away, and walked into the next room. "C'mon." he whispered.

_The walls were strewn in the swooshes of the impressionists, a style not remote from mainstream galleries, but one which MOMA relished._

"They're lovely." Maeby's eyes wandered the room, slowly taking in the space around her. She then turned and gasped.

The crowd parted before them, and before their eyes hung _Starry Night_ by _Van Gough_.

"It's so beautiful." She clasped Michael's hand, fingers kneading his calloused palms.

_As they stepped towards it, the glorious swirls of blues jumped from the canvas, an inspired starry, starry night, framing the darkened field below it. And the lovers left the halls to a sky of blue and grey of the sunny day._

"Any idea what you want to do next?" Michael queried.

_They swung and clutched mutually as they walked gaily under one of the ornate bridges of Central Park, finding themselves slowing at a junction, and stopping near a tree as a gray squirrel darted among the limbs of the tree. _

"Wow, one of those squirrels, I haven't seen one of those since Massachusetts." Maeby marvelled.

"You miss it?"

"Yeah, some of it. I mean, California is nice but, I have so many memories back there."

_Memories, like small grey rodents scampering around tree branches, can be deceiving. _

A young Maeby had sat neatly on the edge of her bed in the baby pink party dress, reading a book.

"Maeby, can you come here?" Lindsay had stood in the door. "Everyone's waiting for you at the party!"

She'd eagerly followed her mother out the front of the large Colonial style house, when Lindsay then handed her a sign. "Hold this sweetie, people don't know where to park!"

Through her legs had dashed a small furry creature, which Maeby had only caught sight of disappearing into the bushes.

_But she had grown a little older, and a little wiser, and had learned a bit from the glimpses of the environmental fundraisers her mother hosted._

The rodent dashed down the trunk and zoomed towards them.

"Rat!" Maeby shouted, yanking Michael sideways, finding themselves tumbling to the ground, Michael on top.

"Are you okay?" Michael quickly pulled her up, looking all over her.

"Perhaps Massachusetts wasn't so good after all."

Inspecting the gashes on her arms, "Looks like that'll be enough rats for us for one day."

_And the end of the day's indecisiveness, so Michael made a decision._

Back at the hotel, Maeby went in first into the room, Micheal shutting the door and slipping his wallet onto the sidetable. Maeby returned, gazing up into his eyes.

"What?"

Her lips parted, tongue wetting the edges.

"Perhaps we should have a shower." He eyed the grubby scrapes on her arms.

Maeby turned, pulling all her top layers in one swoop, Michael trotting behind her to the bathroom, his face lit up.

_The shower raining down upon them, he gazed down wistfully into her eyes, holding her against him. She lightly kissed him, pulling away, causing him to break into a grin. _

"You have the most beautiful smile. If I haven't said that before."

He turned the water off, and they alighted. She dried his torso, arms, and legs, lovingly rubbing and caressing.

"Your turn." He dusted her gently with the towel, dabbing her scraped arms. After a moment, he swooped in and scooped her up, carrying her to the bed, laying her legs over the edge. He then kneeled down, his tongue starting to explore.

"Michael…" She moaned, singing in octaves, over and over again. "You're so good…I love you Michael…"

Michael murmured through his activity, causing Maeby to gasp and swallow between the breath.

"I love you…keep going…" she squealed from the sensations, her high rising with every repetition, until she shuddered. "I love you Michael…"

Maeby felt very naked as Michael stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and gazing at her open and unclothed body.

She pushed up with her hands, kneeing down in front of him.

"No, um, can you turn around, on the bed."

"Of course."

Her legs spread apart, her smooth back and mop of hair contrasting against the bedcover. He ran an index finger down her spine, kissing a trail, and up over her generous hips. She panted in reverie.

"Are you going to?"

"You want me to?"

"I want you to make love to me, Michael."

He hesitated, and slipped his hands around her ribs, planting light kisses in her shoulders and neck, pulling her up, trailing slowly around her neck, chin, as she cooed with pleasure, and holding his open lips from hers, gazing into her wide, softening brow eyes.

Within her, she felt the anticipation building by the second, her lips diving onto his, seeking, yearning kisses, noises from the back of her throat going with them.

He guided her backwards onto the bed, climbing on top of her, and butterfly her cheeks, nose, and mouth with kisses. Staring lovingly into her eyes, he slowly entered, then closed his eyes, engaging in a drawn out kiss, keeping locked on as he built his rhythm.

Her body felt electric as his calloused hands gently stroked and danced over her flesh, involuntary moans escaping from her throat. Her heart pounded all the stronger as his hands traversed her rib cage, her mouth widening, tongue gently seeking his, kneading and playing with the tip, for what seemed to be forever, her fingers gently digging into the hard ripples of his back.

As the energy built, she moaned louder and quicker, and he broke off the kiss, curling an arm around her. He sighed and smiled as she slowly opened her eyes. "My beautiful Maeby. I love you."

"I love you too, my Michael." She whispered back, then curled backward further, moaning from ecstasy, again, and again, her head spinning from the deep sensations.

He kissed her flesh as she continued, finding her pink tips with his tongue, sucking and nibbling.

"Michael, Michael!" she shouted as her body shook in his arms, and he returned to her lips, moaning heavily as he felt his release, calling her name into her mouth.

She looked up at him. "That felt…amazing. I don't think it's ever been so intense before."

"That's what it's like making love."

She looked away, and he rolled them onto their sides.

"Seriously. Is it the speed, or…"

"A bit…but it feels that way." He felt her heart pound through her ribs, fingers pressed into the skin. "Are you beat too?"

"Oh yes, master of sex, you've made me all beat." She winked at him.

_He did have that one coming from a few hours earlier._

"I can't help it if I'm good." He retorted.

She then wrapped her arms around him and nestled into his chest as he flattened onto his back, as they drifted into sleep.

_For the busy business travellers to New York, day turned to night, and night to day, as Michael awoke to the rising sun, blinded by the light._

Maeby and Michael stepped outside the doors of their hotel, _The Brighton_.

"Damn, left the card upstairs."

"Yeah, can't go far without that!"

_This business trip needed to be entirely on the card, after all._

Maeby's phone rang, and she hit the silent button, letting it ring out. A few seconds later, it rang private, and she hesitated before she answered. "Hello?"

"Maeby, hi. Can you talk?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Are you with him?"

"Who?"

"Him. You know who."

"Yes…"

"Where are you? It sounds noisy, are you in LA?"

"ahh…"

A truck passed by, blasting from its speakers, "New York's finest coffee, bagels, hotdogs, between 8th and 9th avenue on 43rd!"

"New York?! What are you doing there?"

"Um…"

"Are you sharing a hotel room?"

_George Michael couldn't contain his reactions and let it be known over the line, which made the conversation even more comfortable._

George Michael made a gagging sound. "No wait, I really don't want to know that. Just don't tell me anything."

"I wasn't going to. Have you set a date with Rebel yet?"

"No. Maeby, do you know how far from home you are? From the family?"

_Maeby's heart sunk, and from feeling on top of the world not five minutes earlier, noticed how the world seemed to be towering over her, shrunk to an ant in a neighbourhood of giants._

"George Michael, please, work it out with Rebel, okay? Don't do this."

"I'm not the one doing anything to anyone."

Maeby listened to the engaged signal before removing the phone slowly from her head.

Returning through the glass doors, Michael exclaimed, "Got it!" He noticed Maeby. "What's wrong?"

Maeby remained hunched over. "Nothing. Where are we going?"

"Rockefeller."

"Sounds good, we can do the [Beep] tour too." He reached out to grab her hand, which she folded into her arms.

"The [Beep] tour? Which will cover such shows as [Beep], [Beep] and [Beep] [Beep]?"

"Wait, how come other networks are being censored, we're not on FOX anymore."

_Considering how this episode opened and continued for quite a while, we're as confused as they are. _

As they stood on top of the world, gazing out across the city, Maeby listlessly stared out through the panes of glass. Michael came up behind her.

"You were on the phone before."

She didn't respond.

"Look at me."

She turned around, her eyes betraying any confidence she tried to keep.

"It was him, wasn't it?"

She again didn't respond, and didn't need to.

He turned, taking his phone out of his pocket.

"No, wait, don't, you'll make it worse."

He gazed back at her desperate eyes. "He's my son. Apart from the fact he's gone and upset you, I raised him, and not to be like this." He reacted sternly.

_Michael was a man first, but always a father second._

Maeby disappeared in the other direction.

Michael listened to the phone dial, and hit voicemail. He then tapped and swiped his screen several times, before re-dial, and the call was picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, son."

"Oh dad, you're coming up as private."

_Like Bluth son, like Bluth father._

"Funny that. So you talked to Maeby earlier?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"She seems rather upset, I would hate to think you'd said something deliberately."

"Of course not, I just told her, that she's an awful long way from her family at the moment."

_Of course Michael knew what that meant, as he knew the impact it had on someone living in an emotional shell for most of her life._

"So if she had recorded it on a Dictaphone without telling you, that's the entire conversation?"

"What's a Dictaphone?"

"It's a recording thing."

"Why wouldn't you just record it on your phone? And Dad, I hate to be 'that person', but I'm an adult, and you aren't the conversation police."

"And I hate to say you are 'that person', but you're already in a relationship, why are you going around upsetting others now? Rebel chose you?"

_Choices are a bit like sandwiches, or in New York, Bagels. Sometimes you'll make your own, and sometimes, someone else will make one for you. For a price. In his youth, Michael was often asked to make choices for others, and never was he happy making them._

A young Ron Howard had walked up to the banana stand. "Hi, give me whatever's popular."

A younger Michael had frozen, eyes dashing between the two choices he had to make.

Years later, an older Ron Howard in a 90s cap had walked up to the stand. "Give me whatever's popular."

George Michael had frozen, but from the corner, Maeby had reached over, dipped a banana in chocolate, and then placed it in Ron's hands. "It's nuts that aren't popular. Hey, aren't you Ron Howard?"

"That's my sandwich to make."

"You make whatever sandwich or banana or whatever suits you, but don't upset my girlfriend in the process. Bye, George Michael."

_Michael found his girlfriend in the roof's house of glass._

Maeby stood staring out the window, ignoring Michael's approach.

"He was out of line."

"It was my line."

"If we don't draw any line, he'll keep going over it. I just want you to be happy."

"Why does it have to be this way..." Maeby murmured.

"I can't bear to see you like this. Why don't we go find something to eat? Sandwiches?"

"I'm not that hungry, you might need to finish mine."

"I'm always up for finishing each other's sandwiches."

_The tourists found themselves in a New York diner, sampling New York's finest sandwiches – the pastrami on rye, and of course, the New York spin on a banana- the banana split._

Michael and Maeby stared at the icecream-laden goop doused in chocolate sauce and dripping in nuts.

"They do focus on this city being the 'big apple'."

"They need to work more on their other fruit." Maeby poked at it.

"Maeby…I know something's still bothering you. We need to talk this through, you know."

She turned to him on the bench, "All that stuff before, I know that's not you. But generally, like with the desk thing, I don't know why you get so crazy some times. It's like you're a different person around me? The adult Michael disappears and I get someone who seems, younger than me almost."

Michael stared into the distance. "I thought you would have said the generational gap was the problem."

"No, perhaps us living together for years mean that gap never opened up."

_Or Michael was always so distracted with the Bluth Company and the Bluth Family he never had time to entertain hobbies._

"I don't know, I'll think on it." Michael's phone beeped. "You know, I wish this thing would leave me alone, just for a weekend."

"Wouldn't mature Michael stay glued to it?"

"But did mature Michael ever have a girlfriend?"

"He did, once or twice?"

"Wow, I think you remember those times better than me."

_Tragically, part of Michael wasn't being sarcastic._

Michael dug into the mucky banana. "We should at least try it?"

"You first." She instructed.

He took the spoon to his lips and savoured the goop. "It's no Bluth banana, a more nuts would really tide it over."

"Nobody likes the nuts. A fair number of people rejected them."

"So that was the answer." He mused.

_Answers among questions are hard to find, but sticking firmly to answers certainly helped the Bluths, as Lindsay had found out on her campaign trail._

At the ragged campaign HQ desk, Lindsay sat between the mountains of binders.

"Two hundred and fifty thousand, ma'am." The staffer had prompted.

"What do they want?"

"They want you to 'consider' a native territory declassification program."

"Who are these people?"

"I think they have something against love."

_Lindsay had read the brief. Apparently they ran a small establishment called the _HateLove Hotel_, and couldn't get permission to start building another establishment close to the Nevada border due to existing land claims, which had meant they had let certain sections of the film industry in to use their building as they were 'leaking' money. Or so they said._

"Meaning?"

"You'd be making sacred land, non-sacred."

"And the local first peoples?"

"They wouldn't be enthusiastic about it."

_At that point in the campaign, Lindsay was down to her dimes, and counting her nickels. They hadn't yet called in the Bluth bailout, and strategically, needed any money they could get. Yet Lindsay knew, if she was to make an inch of political mileage, some things had to be sacred._

"No. Reject it."

_Which was fortunate, as it would have cost her a fortune._

Lindsay sits down at the table of people dressed glamorously, but with touches of feathers and leather in the huge underlit banquet hall.

"Lindsay Bluth, I'm Topena, from the Chenut tribe."

"Great to meet you."

"It's excellent you agreed to be on the first nations table for tonight."

_It was excellent, and it was also news to Lindsay, especially as she'd just eyeballed a full table of journalists nearby. Lindsay's PA wasn't entirely focused, as a temp not being paid by Lindsay's campaign, as there was no money. So small details like being on a table of First Peoples would fall off the radar. But her staffers would then do their jobs._

A staffer slunk up beside Lindsay. "Ma'am, forgot to mention, we also had a call from Tobias."

"Did it go to voicemail?"

"Of course."

"Good."

_A future politician has to have their priorities right. As did businessmen. Michael and Maeby found themselves in a dark bar, later in the evening, running up the company tab._

"At least this place has some decent alcohol." Maeby stirred her cocktail. "And somewhere to sit."

_Michael and Maeby had some trouble finding a bar that would either serve cocktails, or seats, and Michael's dancing was amusing to Maeby…the first few times._

Michael had flailed his arms while his knees went in random directions, with Maeby trying to compensate by bopping her joints to the beat of _Alive_ by _Goldfrapp_, as his movements had earned stares from around them.

"Michael, Michael, why don't we get a drink."

"No, it's okay, I can dance with you if you want, man, I'm really getting into it here! "

_He was certainly getting into something._

Maeby had glanced around, seeing the stares he was getting, "No, seriously, it's okay."

_But Maeby had convinced him to look that one bar further, and they had found something slightly more homely with some decent alcohol. It was New York, after all._

"I like the music here though."

Michael leaned around the booth, curling his arm around Maeby. A familiar song about _Phoenix_ pumped through the speakers around them in the darkened bar.

"I thought about your question. I feel like I never have before, I have all this energy. And the weird thing is, I look in the mirror and see this old man, and I don't necessarily recognise myself at first because I feel like I'm your age. I'm feeling alive again. You know, being near you is like an escape from the world, when I'm near you I know I'm coming home. You're my Phoenix."

"Hot and barren?"

"Yeah, it kinda disappointed me too."

Leaving Phoenix airport, Michael had stumbled around in the blinding heat, and noticing a cab straight in front of him, went to open the door. He then quickly recoiled his burning his hand on the cab door, and dashed back inside of the cool airport.

_And Michael hoped Maeby was only one of those things. He knew she was at least one._

"Well, the first time." He smiled to himself.

"I think I know what you're trying to say though. I know how much moving in means to you." She sipped her drink.

"It's totally up to you. I would never want to drag you into a home you wouldn't want to be a part of."

"That's not it…it's complicated. But I know you understand."

He lay his palm over hers.

_While the joins were being strengthened in New York, the cracks were starting to appear for the Bluths back in California. Or at least one crack reappearing._

Lindsay affixed her arms to her hips, standing behind her desk. "There was ten million dollars from one donor, and you didn't mention it to me?"

"It was from our company. And it was twenty." George Senior shuffled his weight.

"You do know there are laws around donations, dad?"

He shrugged. "What's a few million between friends? I mean, you can't even get a good yacht for that money nower days…"

"It's just one small issue. I have a journalist on the phone."

"He sounds like a crackhead, I wouldn't take him seriously."

"He's really cracked some big stories, I don't think it's wise to leave this alone. We can't just snap our fingers and make it go away, twenty million is bound to crackle. If we don't do something, something will pop." She picked up the phone. "Hello Goran."

"Hello Congresswoman, how goes the family? Still making out?"

"It's been quite full on. How are you, breaking big stories there?"

"Sure. Nothing quite as juicy as the Bluths doubly in bed with each other though."

"Sounds like a tabloid writers' steamy dream. But the funding isn't coming from that direction."

"Looked like simple arithmetic to me, Congresswoman."

"Oh Goran, are you really gor-en to crack anything by talking to me? Our accountant makes brilliant pie charts, showing the full ins and outs of our pies, pies we give to IRS, and from all of those, most of that pie is from a huge array of sources."

"Well show me your figures, if truly these are pies worthy of discussing."

"They're not. You keep cracking away, Goran. Bye."

A knock sounded at the door. "Come in."

The wirey receptionist stuck her head around. "Group of party members on the phone, for the western branch four o'clock policy discussion meeting."

Lindsay rolled her eyes. "How useful. Come in and set my end to mute when I say so."

"Couldn't they disendorse you?" George Senior queried.

Lindsay leaned around as the woman fiddled with her desk phone. "I'm not taking advice from a group of nobodies when I've earned fifty million from various interests." She nodded at her staffer. "How are all of you? I'm really excited to hear your ideas. How about you all go around the table, and one by one talk them through and we do discussion after?"

"Sure!" The voice replied over speakerphone.

Lindsay nodded at her staffer, who again fiddled with the phone. "Get this whole funding thing out of the media. Run something about the burial ground."

"And poison the well of your funding?"

"They'll be fine. "

_They were fine, in the other sense of the word, but they were half way across the country, and no-where to be found. Until the national bureaus picked up on the story._

"National first peoples groups would be turning in their graves, as the controversial Bluth family build over a sacred American site and attempt to fight Washington's attempts to keep our nation's heritage…"

_Which Michael would have known had he been checking his emails, something he'd sworn off for the weekend as he swooned with his girlfriend instead. That was instead and until they were located by the gaggle of reporters that are based in New York City, some of whom are based in the [Beep] section of Rockefeller. I can't believe we still need to censor that._

A long lens camera zooms and focuses on Michael and Maeby wandering down a street holding hands, as noise around the camera indicates it is part of a throng.

"And we have just located the CEO of the company, and will be seeking a comment."

George Senior watched in horror from the master bedroom's bed, and quickly dialled his phone. "They're on TV…You told Michael, right?"

"Yeah, I emailed him. I haven't heard back, though. Haven't they gone somewhere remote?"

From the throng, one reporter took the lead. "Michael, Michael Bluth! Why is your family building over Native American heritage?"

Michael gasped, shellshocked, and quickly released Maeby's hand "The Bluth company denies any impact on Native American heritage, we have stopped building pending the decision of the government."

"That's not what the association has said, in fact they say you've desecrated sacred land."

"We completely deny the allegations, we have been above the law at all times."

"Complying with the law." Maeby added.

"Yes, really complying. Compliant." Michael held his arms behind his back.

On the screen, Maeby climbed into the taxi before Michael joined her. "And Michael Bluth has left the scene with his daughter…"

George Senior looked on in shock at the penthouse TV. "[Beep]"

Lindsay looked on in awe. "Fantastic." She swivelled in her desk chair towards her staff. "We've bought another week."

_But chaos was not only to come from one direction for Michael Bluth. In fact, another Bluth had designs on him._

Rebel walked into the modern living room, her hair down and curled. "What do you think?"

"What if you tied it up?" George Michael eyed the look.

"And added a fringe! Of course!"

George Michael sat back deep into the sofa, his legs splayed apart, shoulders hunched forward. Rebel returned with a bouffant and her red curls cascading over her shoulders, a prominent fringe, pedal pushers and six inch wooden sandal stilettos.

"I gotta show this look to the girls!" She flopped down onto the couch, crossing her legs, and flicked her iPad screen.

"Women's shoes…maybe I should go into them." George Michael mumbled.

Rebel swiped her screen. "Sweetie, should I have a white dress for the wedding? Or a red one?"

"Whatever you want, I'm sure it'll be great." George Michael sipped a beer, staring at the TV.

_George Michael's unparalleled enthusiasm for his current situation had caused him to take on one of the Bluth family's favourite past times- alcohol._

The news channel of Michael and Maeby holding hands on the streets of New York, replayed over, and over, and over again, filled their living room, and the level of rage inside George Michael.

_For George Michael, he still had an axe to grind, and was feeling between the Bluth ego and self pity that his father, the one who was now causing his problem, had tried to prevent wearing off. _

He crushed the beer can in his hand. "Look, Michael and Maeby are in New York at the moment."

"What are they doing there?"

"I think he took her there. I don't know if she knew where she was going."

"That's…kinda creepy."

_When you put it that way._

George Michael leaned back into the couch. "I'm just worried about them, that's all."

"Well there is quite an age gap."

"She's so young, yeah. I never hear good things about those kind of relationships, you know, TomKat, and Woody Allen and his wife. And there are guys that seem to 'upgrade' their wives…like Rod Stewart."

"Yeah, I didn't realise how many examples there were! And I mean, he's like full-on commitment, I remember when I was dating him, he wanted to get serious really quick."

_As did Rebel at the time, but memory is like a rat stew- it doesn't improve with age._

"I think he would have wanted to have had kids right away."

"Yeah Mom wanted to go for her career, but…"

_Michael had never discussed when he and Tracey had decided to have children with anyone. Think about it, it's kinda weird to be bringing up certain performance issues. Being involved in a theatre troop at the time being an understudy for Peter Pan, he had little time for trying for a baby. Regardless of Michael's performance or eventual lack thereof when he was kicked off the cast, Tracey was a woman who married Michael quite young, knowing he wanted kids._

"He does stuff like that, you know."

"That is just so sad. I just wish there was something we could do."

"Possibly there is."

"What?"

"Maybe you should talk to her. You know, as you, she'll listen."

"Well, I have to do something."

"Rebel, you can do anything." He touched her arm.

"Aww, you're so sweet!"

George Michael smiled.

_He really was. Especially when he was getting his fiancée to try to talk his ex out of dating his father. The Bluth Family had operated on unspoken dynamics – that Michael was the compass, and the others could be pulled into direction they all needed to go. But as the agitator, he was suddenly repelling them, and all the members were flying in different directions. So as Michael had to deal with multiple rats in the Bluth ranks, he was about to find out that the good news of his relationship to Maeby could not be contained for long._

At her office desk, Lindsay's phone rang. "Goran, what can I do for you?"

"I thought there was no incest in your family, Congresswoman."

"What could you be talking about?" She replied acidly.

"Your brother and daughter were seen holding hands in New York. And more."

"More?"

"I'd rather not have to throw away this phone, it's all about as appealing as rat stew. And all the major news channels are running shots of them holding hands."

"Sounds like they're having a good time over there, must be something in the air. Or the water? Maybe there's your story!"

"Tell me why I wouldn't run this as front page news."

"Oh no, don't do that. Please don't do that." She echoed sarcastically.

"What's your game, Congresswoman?"

"I don't have a game, I'm just concerned about my family."

Goran mumbled, and hung up.

_So the distraught Congresswoman delivered the two lucky relatives who were about to take more than one for the team, the good news._

Lindsay redialled. "Hello!"

"Lindsay, how has it come to be that every major news outlet in the country is going into bat for a tribe that couldn't even keep themselves together?"

"I don't know, brother. But listen, between whatever you're doing to my daughter and being on a small island swarming with journalists, the rest of the country is about to hear about that 'arrangement'."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Love. Mutual admiration. Respect."

"Wow, there must be a lot of money involved. Carry on. Me and my girlfriend here, for your information, will just keep running your major donor."

"You keep telling yourself that, Mr CEO. Buh-bye!"

"Oh I wi…" He heard dialtone.

Maeby watched on as her boyfriend squirmed from his in-law cum sibling's phone call.

"What's the story that's got you so delory? What's Mom done?"

"The party may be over in New York. The national media know."

"What do we do? Deny?"

"Yep."

"What do we do now then?"

"I don't know. We have to go back soon, we could go for a walk outside the hotel?"

_Facing the marching army of rats in the ranks, Michael was again about to learn the cost of indecisiveness. The media vultures awaited their prey, with Michael and Maeby walking straight into the venue._

A media crush lay in wait to greet them, a patchwork of shiny equipment and human beings.

"Michael, Michael, what do you have to say to your investors?"

"Michael, how many sites were disturbed?"

"Mr Bluth, will you be stepping down now?"

_The pair promptly turned on their heels and retreated, finally making a firm decision. Of sorts. _

In the sanctuary of the elevator, Michael stated, "We're going back to Balboa Bay. Now."

Maeby leaned in and kissed him. "It's kinda sexy when you're so decisive."

_What did we say about the benefits of being decisive?_

"Well, let's make like Peter Pan and fly away."

_But perhaps being decisive is not the only thing you need. _

Maeby rolled her eyes. "Let me fix this." She dialled her phone. "Yeah, airport. Now. Out the back of…"

_And with their belongings in toe, Maeby did what she had learned from her many years with the famous- escaping the clutches of the media. _

"C'mon." She instructed Michael, as the trudged toward the kitchen, suitcases in toe. "Hi, I need to get out the back way, we have a cab waiting down there?" Maeby held out money.

"Room 932." Michael added.

"Certainly." The staffer winked.

_But they knew who they were dealing with, and the New York vultures would not miss a scrap to scavenge._

"And we're going live to the back of the building now, where Michael Bluth and his niece and girlfriend are trying to escape."

Maeby and Michael dashed into the waiting cab, taking their luggage with them into the back seat, the TV crews rushing the front of the cab.

"Oh, you're those guys." The Hispanic Cab driver swerved, narrowly missing oncoming traffic.

"Yeah, what of it?!" Maeby demanded, losing her composure.

"Nothing, nothing, follow your heart sir and ma'am, y'know, you guys like each other, it's all that matters."

"Thanks." Maeby replied sharply.

_Maeby had never been good at taking criticism. It may partly be because when her grades were bad at one school, her parents would just switch her to another. But Michael had taken on board one of her tricks._

He leaned forward. "Sir…I know you have priorities and things going on, but I just really need you to get me and her to the airport, as soon as possible." He handed the guy a handful of notes.

_This time, Michael's decisive action saved him and Maeby from a fate worse than an unscheduled media conference – a media ambush. Because the operator at the cab company knew the famous Bluths had booked the cab, information which made its way to major news outlets, who bidded to get a slice of pie in derailing the ride. But Michael's quick thinking and cash had quashed their bid, and ensured they were only going one way._

"Thank you, Sir."

_And but one block from the ambush, the cab turned south, instead of east, safely ferrying the hottest properties on the east coast on their way to their plane. And even more repeats of that shot that had warmed George Michael's heart._

"We believed we were going to see them enroute to the airport, but have seem to have lost them there, just to fill you in, the CEO…"

George Michael threw an empty beer can at the TV.

_The two slightly more haggard lovers relaxed into their plane seats, contemplating the reception that could await them at the other end. Fortunate for them, private planes don't have schedules as easy to decipher as regular planes, so the big money Michael had paid to awe Maeby would prevent a number of aww's to investors, and they put their heads together on a multi-faceted strategy to deal with the media fallout._

"Deny?"

"Deny." Maeby nodded.

_And then set out returning to base- Michael's office. Their audience had unfortunately, laid in wait, like scavengers on a lonely rat stew._

As the two climbed in, the cab driver remarked, "Oh, you're those guys."

"Yeah, what of it?!" Maeby demanded.

"Nothing, nothing. But you saw the [Beep] tour, right? My daughter wants to see [Beep] being made, do they include that?"

"Oh yeah, they shoot the [Beep] [Beep] and is Jimmy Fallon there, we saw him." Michael replied.

"But not [Beep] [Beep] [Beep]?"

"No, 'fraid not." He nodded.

"And [Beep] [Beep]? I saw her asking you questions on the TV, was she nice?"

"She was sure shouting loudly." Maeby added.

The cab stopped short of the front of the building, a media throng waiting outside.

"We should just tackle this. Throw everything at it."

"Yeah."

Michael approached the front of the building, Maeby by his side.

"Esteemed colleagues of the media, it has come to our attention that people are claiming myself and my niece Maeby Fünke have been seen cavorting in New York. I know there has been rolling coverage of footage of us holding hands…"

_George Michael might have posted an abusive message on Facebook regarding that, having had seven Girlie Girl Beers to encourage him._

"But let me assure you, and the investors, that Maeby and I are work colleagues. We had to go to New York on business, to research and ascertain new directions for the Bluth Company, a company we have both worked far too hard on, to squander on a frivolous rendezvous. Myself, and this office, deny that there has been a casual romantic rendezvous between us, and restate that we are, colleagues."

_Fortunate for Michael, everything he had said, was true, albeit by omission. It was also fortunate that the wheel on Goran Crack's car had done just that, and it wasn't spinning him anywhere. Michael's next spinning of his story was also to be next successful._

"Regarding us holding hands, Maeby found the city quite daunting at times, and as her Uncle, I felt it was responsibility to comfort her."

"A woman who has produced ten films?"

"Who had never been to New York." Michael restated.

"Even the kid in Home Alone managed New York." Laughed another reporter.

"There seems to be a higher than average rodent population in New York, and she found that…concerning."

Behind the news desk at five, the bubble-headed bleach blonde flicked her eyebrows. "Modern day pied piper of Hamelin? Michael Bluth claims his grab-assing of his niece is due to New York's rat population. New York rejects the claim, and says the Bluths aren't welcome back. "

_George Michael and Rebel were as confused, as how a man who was trying to escape the rats, controlled them as the Pied Piper had._

Turning away from the living room TV, they exchanged looks.

_This, however, reminded Rebel to meet with Maeby, and the two met to discuss the concerns. _

Rebel watched Maeby approach the outdoor table at the Club, sporting a smidge of makeup and looking very refreshed. "Maeby! You look fabulous!"

Maeby gazed at Rebel in her red bouffant hair and bright lipstick, noticing bags under her eyes and a slight pallor. "Thank you. You look…nice." She sat opposite Rebel.

"Anyway, how have you been?"

_The two women compared stories, until it came down to talking about the two men they had in common._

"…And I know you never did that with George Michael, but it's just different."

_Maeby actually had, and it wasn't._

"I'm sure it is."

"But sweetie, I'm really worried about you." Rebel leaned forward. "I'm a bit older than you, so I have more experience, I guess, and a kid, he's great but…what I'm trying to say is, but I can see what's going on there. You know Michael will keep pushing you to move forward, I mean that's what he kept trying to do to me. He's an older guy and they're all the same…TomKat, Woody Allen, love him but still with his adopted daughter? And Rod Stewart and his wives, he remarries young women every time? You know, the woman before me that Michael dated. Then I am a bit older than you. And…" She nodded at Maeby.

Maeby winced slightly.

"You're young, with your entire life ahead of you, no kids, no commitments…I know him as well as you know him, and Michael, is well, Michael."

_Maeby hadn't had her options put as starkly as Rebel had outlined them, with two very different pathways to mull. Maeby Fünke had always looked for the easy way out in life – to school, to work, to relationships. And she'd always found them. But suddenly, wading up to her waist, possibly her neck, she was too far in to just wade out easily, and like a drowing rat in stew, she knew she had to make some kind of decision. But it wouldn't be until others were made, at a hastily called family meeting. George Senior seemed to be the only one talking to her side of the room, and had offered them a chair. A dining chair, but somewhere to sit, nonetheless._

At the penthouse, Lindsay, Lucille and George Michael sat on the long sofa, with Rebel and Buster on the side.

"No, we're fine." Michael insisted, Maeby by his side, standing closest to the door.

George Michael sunk forward, a beer in his hand. Lindsay clutched a short glass tall on clear liquid, and Lucille had her customary cocktail. Buster had a box of juice at the ready.

"You don't look fine, you're still attached to my daughter!" A tipsy Lindsay launched from the alcohol-influenced trench, a trickle dripping from the side of her glass.

"At least I'm not leaking everywhere and destroying the family company!" Michael fired back from the dry trench.

"The media saw you, both of you, do you really think they're going to accept it?" George Michael shouted. "I mean, who tries to start relationships with their relatives?"

"Heir Heir!" Lindsay shouted.

Rebel stood up amid the chaos. "Woah woah woah!" she waved her arms. "Look, I don't know if it'll make any difference if I say something, and I don't know what's going on with you guys, and I don't know why we're all fighting, but I genuinely apologise." She tossed her bouffant back, shifting her weight on her wooden wedge sandals.

_Given Rebel was not the problem, her apology was fairly meaningless._

George Senior then took to chairing the meeting. "This is exactly why I brought you all here, because I didn't put all my effort into this family so we would wind up having drunken fights. Fights, sure, I mean that's to be expended..."

"Dad, I have tried, I have tried my whole life, y'know and I just for once…"

"Michael, we'll deal with your…" he glanced at Michael and Maeby, "arrangement, some other time. But right now, we have a company that could start haemorrhaging money, and a Congresswoman that could find herself out of a job. Lindsay, you need your brother. Michael, you need your sister."

"Because as the Bluths we stick together?" Michael asked sarcastically.

"Because the Cuatro tribe never inhabited that land. They inhabited neighbouring land. Me and Oscar moved all their remains to that land twenty-five years ago so we could run tours. But nobody cared about a family of dysfunctional drunk layabouts."

_An experiment successfully replicated twenty years later._

"So we just left them there. No, what Lindsay is going to do, is get the best team of geologists in the state to look over the land, find that out, and then just guide them to where the bones ought to be. You get the land back, Bluthton is back on schedule and Lindsay is seen to be looking after American heritage."

"What would we get out of this?" Lucille demanded. "I still can't get into the Balboa Club."

"And Michael will get us back into the Balboa Club."

"No, come on…!" Michael protested.

"Daddy, I won't do a thing for Michael, he has disgraced this family." Lindsay glared at Michael.

George Michael shouted, "Hit the nail on the Peg!"

"But if you ask, of course I will."

"There's daddy's girl." George Senior smirked.

Michael shot her a dark look.

"What are we going to do about," George Michael pointed at the two lurking in the passageway, "That?"

"I went on TV and issued a further denial." Michael insisted.

"How can you be running the company if you're distracted by this?" George Michael queried.

"Sweetie, Ganki needs access to the Balboa Club Bar again." Lucille gestured. "So you keep running your one the way you run…your own, and leave Michael to the family name."

_She meant cash cow._

"How much longer do you think this can go on, Michael?" Lindsay demanded.

"I don't think anything, Lindsay. If you weren't so busy ratting me out, you'd see that this has gone beyond the thinking stage, and as much as you try…"

"Get to the point, Michael." George Senior interrupted.

"They seemed to have swallowed it. I say, we play it by ear."

_Lindsay knew differently, but if she spoke up about Goran Crack and his threats, she would have ratted herself out, as well as the impending doom the company could be facing. _

"Sounds like a plan. I'm in." Lindsay smiled impetuously.

"Good that we're on the same page." George Senior marched around his army as general. "Lindsay, whatever the hell happened this week, let's not hear about it again. George Michael," he grabbed the can from his hand, "sit up, drink something sensible, and behave like a Bluth." George Senior handed him a bottle of vodka.

_Funny, we didn't need to beep out that reference. Maybe because it was FOX, and not [Beep]. And there it is again. _

"Lucille,"

Lucille smiled at George Senior.

"Stay beautiful."

_And that was that. While Michael was shielding her from the insults, Maeby had been doing some thinking. And she knew what needed to happen next. Michael retreated to the office to lick his wounds from the cat fight in the penthouse, Maeby in toe._

Michael stared at the wall from his desk chair. "That went well."

Maeby paced his carpet. "Yeah. You folded on the membership to the Balboa Club."

Michael exhaled, despondent.

"But, it went better than Ganki's 60th? And the third Bluth Foundation fundraiser for GBA?"

_Which had ended in a riot._

"That's true." Michael slumped over his desk and sighed. "The media hate me, the family hates me, my friends hate me…It's like the whole world is closing in. Perhaps I should resign."

Maeby clasped his forearm. "All those people don't matter. We'll be fine."

He looked up and smiled through sad eyes.

"I'll move in with you."

He brightened, and took her hand, kissing it.

"We'll make our way through this. We'll stick together."

"Rome wasn't built in a day."

"It wasn't. But one thing."

"Yeah?"

"If you keep saying that, I'll have to strangle you."

Michael grinned mischievously.

_On the next episode of Bluthton, Michael remembers further fragments from the day Lindsay and him met the floor of her office._

Michael leaned down, finding a receipt in his top drawer, stating he was dropped off at the model home.

Michael had been laid in the back seat of the cab by the driver, the background of the cab zooming through various bits of California, Balboa Bay, and eventually the desert of the model home. Around him, numerous passengers enter and exit the cab, one drinks a beer, another two make out, one younger one poking Michael with a stick, until the driver asks exasperated,

"Sir, you must tell me where you live?"

"GOB is stuck in prison! I must get him! 1 Lucille Lane, Newport Beach…Good Sssurr…"

"Why do all Congressmen offload drunks onto me." He muttered.


End file.
